


If Thou Wolt Haue it Red

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Affected by a rather nefarious - if delicious - bit of magic, Merlin is forced to navigate the complications of keeping a step ahead of Arthur (lest he ask the right questions), getting to the bottom of who's responsible (and why they'd want to trouble Gwen) and perhaps trying to understand why some of the truths he's working so diligently to avoid might not be the ones he expects...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Thou Wolt Haue it Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/gifts).



> The title is shamelessly stolen from the lovely, 'A Boke of Gode Cookery' in the wonderful recipe for Gyngerbrede (definitely not the gingerbread as we know it today!). 
> 
> Camelittle, I enjoyed writing this for you so much! And I do so hope you enjoy reading it! I tried to work in as much of your prompt as possible (cuz, bonus points! YAY!). I hope I succeeded and made you smile at least a little bit! :) 
> 
> Extra special thanks to the Merlin_Hols mods. Wow you've got endless amounts of patience!

“Now this,” Merlin says, stepping out of the main doors of the castle, “is a lovely day.”

A passing guard eyes him a bit strangely, but Merlin ignores him and can’t fight down a grin.

Overhead, the sky is a cloudless blue and while the golden orb of the midday sun is hanging just over the castle wall – like it’s balancing atop the stone - it’s almost too bright, and almost too warm, but it’s utterly welcome.

Heavy, unrelenting rains had been plaguing Camelot for nearly a week and Merlin’s been suffering the moods of a king going stir-crazy at being stuck indoors. Arthur had tried, at first, to keep to his regular schedule, but eventually he gave up outdoor activities as a lost cause (Merlin doesn’t like to think about his one attempt to hold practice with his knights… he never knew _that_ much mud could be tracked in on a single pair of boots) and has been stalking the halls of the keep in a sulk. Merlin, spending as much time as he does in Arthur’s company, had borne the brunt of that frustration (never again will he agree to close-combat lesson in the great hall, no matter how much Arthur wheedles. The room seemed spacious enough until being chased around by a pent-up king with a dagger in hand).

Now that the skies have cleared and the sun is shining, things can get back to normal!

Stepping aside, leaning against the thick stone balustrade to allow a pair of maid to pass, Merlin pauses only a pace outside the doors, still on the landing of the stairs that step down to the courtyard. A light wind – just the perfect little breeze to keep the heat from being too much - holds the dust-warm smell of sun-dried stone, and though here and there small puddles and damp patches remain stubborn in their shadows, most of the courtyard is clean and dry. And full of people.

It seems that everyone is venturing out of the castle or their homes to enjoy the weather.

He takes a last, long breath and then jogs down the steps and pauses next to the statue of some unnamed king of old astride his destrier, scanning the people milling around the courtyard. He’s been asked by Arthur to deliver a message to Guinevere – who’s waiting on Arthur’s arrival - and he spots her after just a moment across the yard standing near the fountain. He calls out a cheery, “Gwen!”

Gwen glances in his direction, acknowledges this greeting with a friendly wave, but looks to be in the middle of a conversation with a visiting lady whose name escapes Merlin at the moment. Reaching the fountain, Merlin stops a polite few yards away from Gwen and her companion to wait.

Though he’s forgotten her name, Merlin knows the woman Gwen is speaking to is the eldest daughter of an old friend of Uther’s; some well-remembered Knight of Camelot that Merlin should probably… well, remember. He knows – from gossip around the court the last few days - that she was married young, to another Knight, and widowed not long after; both her husband and father falling in the same battle. She’s got holdings on the Northern borders of Camelot, not far from Carleon, but from what Merlin’s overheard, the main keep suffered a terrible fire and Arthur offered her lodging at Camelot through the summer months while it’s repaired.

She’s been staying in the castle for the last fortnight, but Merlin hasn’t had much of a chance to interact with her. He knows, from more of that gossip, that she’s spent much of her time holed up in the library reading (several of the other ladies find this remarkably odd).

It’s a bit unnerving seeing her talking to Gwen, though, as he’d secretly wondered if her trip to Camelot might also have more… political purposes. Arthur’s been fending off quite the variety of offers of alliances through marriage, and it seems there’s a new noble and his eligible daughters visiting every other week. That someone seeking an ‘in’ with Arthur might look to Gwen for some kind of… advantage, puts Merlin on edge.

But Gwen is smiling, and laughing, so he assumes their conversation likely doesn’t involve ways that the lady might entrap Arthur. Gwen gestures again after a few minutes, inviting Merlin to join them.

“Merlin, you remember Lady Elspeth, don’t you?” she asks as he approaches.

Elspeth; that’s her name.

“Yes, of course,” Merlin lies, and then takes the hand the lady offers and bows his head over it. “Lady Elspeth, it’s lovely to see you again.”

Lady Elspeth, who is several years older than either he or Gwen and rather lovely in an unassuming way – aging gracefully, his mother would call it - gives his hand a gentle squeeze and smiles genuinely. Despite the wrinkles edging them, she has rather striking green eyes and they meet his boldly. “It’s my pleasure, Merlin.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Merlin replies with a winsome grin.

That actually earns him a coquettish giggles that much belies Lady Elspeth’s age. “Aren’t you a charmer,” she says, pulling her hand away only to pat him fondly on the cheek.

Gwen looks between them with amusement. “That’s our Merlin,” she agrees. “Always the charmer.” There’s only a bit of teasing to her tone.

He bows his again, about to extricate himself to allow them to finish their conversation when Lady Elspeth stops him. “Please, there’s no need. The Lady Gwen was just being kind enough to answer a few of my questions about the market in the lower town. I’m dreadfully fond of perfumeries and apothecaries, you see.”

And now that she’s mentioned it, Merlin becomes aware of a particular fragrance surrounding her. It’s light, and sweetly floral. It’s definitely something he’s smelled before - likely in Gaius’ many dried and bottled ingredients – but he can’t place it.

“But, I’m sure you’ve court business to attend to,” she continues, “so I’ll just continue on to my visit to the marketplace.” She turns to Gwen. “Thank you, my Lady Guinevere, for your time.”

Gwen wrinkles her nose – Merlin assumes at being called ‘my Lady’ – but her answering smile is warm and friendly. “Please, just Gwen. And it was no trouble, Elspeth. I enjoyed our conversation.”

“As did I. We’ll have to arrange another, soon.” Lady Elspeth agrees.

Merlin inclines his head again as Lady Elspeth takes her leave. When she’s well out of earshot he whispers in an aside to Gwen, “Dare I ask?”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gwen slaps at his arm. “Don’t be silly. It was nothing untoward. She just wanted some… um, information on the marketplace. As she said.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow.

Gwen blows out a breath and her cheeks pink slightly. “Much of it was to do with womanly things, Merlin.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to blush. “Oh, uh… well, good. I mean.” He flips a hand vaguely in the air. “Just glad she wasn’t… you know.” He moves the flailing hand to the back of his neck. “Right, so…”

“She wasn’t looking for secrets about Arthur, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Gwen’s expression goes slightly pinched.

Merlin feels bad for thinking it, but it really wouldn’t be the first time. Since Gwen returned to Camelot and she and Arthur mutually decided that marriage wasn’t right for either of them, Merlin knows it’s been a challenge for them to settle back into a friendship that they’re both comfortable with. Arthur took steps to smooth things over, naming Gwen as a Lady of the court and granting her a position on his council to send a clear message that any earlier transgression has been long forgotten.

He claimed it was because he didn’t want to lose her ‘commoner’s touch’ that had earned him the esteem of his subjects, but Merlin knows it was also a bit out of guilt. It hasn’t been easy for Gwen since she agreed to come back, and being cozied-up to by greedy, eager, husband-seekers for her ‘inside knowledge’ of the King is the least of troubling things she’s had to deal with.

“Speaking of,” Gwen goes on, forcing her expression sunny once more. “Should I assume you’re out here on Arthur’s behalf?”

“Oh! Right!” Merlin almost forgot the reason he’d come looking for her. “Yes, Arthur wanted me to let you know that he’s running a few minutes late. He uh, got caught up in discussing trade routes with the delegation from Enghed.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “He was late on the practice field again, wasn’t he?”

Merlin shakes his head, but he can’t meet her gaze. “No, of course not. You think our King would forget that he’s supposed to meet one of his most trusted advisors simply because he was too busy bashing his knights around?”

“Of course not. That would _never_ happen,” Gwen agrees with a knowing giggle.

“He was just finished getting out of his armor when I left,” Merlin admits in a quiet aside, feeling no shame whatsoever at failing to cover for his king. “He should only be a few more minutes.”

“It’s no trouble, Merlin. It’s a lovely day, and I’m in no hurry.” She takes his arm and loops hers in it. “Actually, since I’ve got you alone for a minute, there’s something I wanted to—“

“Guinevere!” Arthur’s booming voice interrupts before she can finish and Merlin turns toward the castle with Gwen on his arm to see Arthur at the top of the steps.

Merlin waits until he hurries down the steps and practically rocks to a halt in front of them from his haste. He’s only slightly out of breath. “Your Highness, I’ve found the Lady Gwen for you.” He hands her off to Arthur’s waiting arm.

“I can see that, Merlin,” Arthur scoffs, but he’s smirking as he steps into Merlin’s vacated place at Gwen’s side and waits for her to settle her hand on his arm. “How are you this morning, Guinevere?”

Gwen, long familiar with both of their antics, just shakes her head in bemusement. “I’m well, Arthur. And you? How was the meeting with the delegation from Enghed?”

Arthur blinks in puzzlement, eyes flicking nervously to Merlin for a brief moment (Arthur had told Merlin to cover for him, but hadn’t provided a suitable excuse… so Merlin pulled his story from thin air), but he recovers quickly enough. “Ah, well enough, Gwen. Though I’m sure we’ll have to continue our talks on…” he trails off with another furtive glare at Merlin.

“Trade routes,” Merlin supplies, unable to fight back his grin.

“Right,” Arthur agrees heartily. “The trade routes. We uh, will likely need to revisit the topic.”

“Which one was it?” Gwen asks.

Arthur frowns. “Which trade route?”

“No,” Gwen shakes her head, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “Which knight needed your special attention on the practice field?”

Arthur shoots a glare in Merlin’s direction and hisses out, “You told her?”

While Merlin spreads his hands innocently, Gwen laughs and pats Arthur’s arm. “Of course not, Arthur. I just know you well enough. It’s a lovely morning, and finally dry after all that rain. Who could blame you for wanting to spend as much time as possible enjoying the weather?”

Merlin steps into place behind Arthur as the pair being walking toward the market district. Trailing dutifully after, he keeps half an ear on their conversation, but also one to the city. Fortunately it looks as if the general populace is pleased to see one of their own – at least formerly – arm-in-arm with the king. Merlin figures it will probably fuel speculation that perhaps their romance isn’t as over as has been assumed, but he knows Arthur won’t care as long as it means no one is disparaging Gwen.

He’s equally pleased to note that Gwen and Arthur seem – for the most part – comfortable with each other again. It’s taken them quite a bit of time to reach this easy, casual friendship and though Merlin can occasionally see signs of one or the other being a bit too careful or a bit too capitulating, those moments are now fewer and further between.

Gwen laughs at some rather scathing commentary Arthur makes about a vendor hawking beauty supplies, and it’s her genuine, nose-scrunching laugh. And Arthur isn’t trying to flatter her or be something he’s not, which is refreshing to see. He thinks they might truly be able to pull this friendship thing off.

They’ve been walking, Merlin mostly trailing quietly after (though occasionally throwing in humorous asides to tease Arthur and make Gwen laugh) for quite some time, when a voice rings out over the din of the crowd, “Oh! Merlin!”

Startled, Merlin glances around to see who might be calling out to him (since it clearly wasn’t Arthur or Gwen, and they’re the only two he might expect to do so).

The voice, it turns out, belongs to Lady Elspeth, who is standing on the other side of the busy cobbled street at the shop window of a bakery. When she sees that she’s caught his attention, she gestures him over with a furtive little wave (the furtiveness seems a bit silly at this point, because it’s not as if she hadn’t called his name loud enough to carry across a busy thoroughfare).

Arthur and Gwen have come to a stop and are both looking back at him. “Well, go on,” Arthur urges with waggling eyebrows. “Go and see what the Lady Elspeth wants.”

“You can catch us up in a moment,” Gwen says, grinning. “We’ll be fine until then, Merlin.”

And Merlin ducks his chin just a little bit. His trailing after the pair of them is out of duty to be on hand for Arthur, but it doesn’t mean he hasn’t also been using the opportunity to stay close enough to… mediate, should anything go awry.

“All right, I’ll just…” he jerks his head to the side. “I’m sure I’ll be just a moment.”

Arthur just rolls his eyes and looks forward again, picking back upon whatever thread of conversation he’d dropped when Merlin was beckoned. Once he and Gwen are strolling once more, Merlin makes his way across the busy foot-traffic. The market is especially busy today – due equally, Merlin knows, to the much-welcomed clement weather as to some newly arrived caravans and several crops coming in – and he nearly gets his foot rolled over by a cart full of plump yellow gourds, and narrowly avoids being brained by a man hauling a whole side of pork on his shoulder.

Merlin reaches Lady Elspeth unscathed, though it was a near thing. “Hello again,” he says with a rather harried grin, and gives a quick little bow of his head. “What can I do for you?”

With a familiarity that surprises Merlin – though she does seem the friendly sort - Lady Elspeth puts a hand on Merlin’s forearm and squeezes tight. “Oh, thank you for coming over. I do so hate to presume, but I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind doing me a small favor.” She smiles up at him, all dimples and fluttering eyelashes. It’s mostly affectation, and she’s being rather obvious about it in a way that tells Merlin she’s doing in jest.

Caught, for some odd reason, by that spark of merriment, he finds himself saying, “I’d be happy to help, if I can.”

The hand not clinging to Merlin’s sleeve lifts up to show she’s holding a small, paper-lined basket filled with little square gingered-honey cakes, dyed a cheery red and each topped with a fresh violet. “You see, I’ve got this little gift and I was hoping you might not mind delivering it for me.”

Oh. The warmth he’d been feeling goes immediately cool and Merlin’s smile thins. He has to press his lips together to hold back a sigh. He’d thought – hoped, really – that Lady Elspeth wasn’t another of those trying to curry favor with the king. That she’s asking _him_ to do this for her is even more irritating. He abhors getting dragged into anyone’s romantic machinations where Arthur is concerned (he’s admittedly sabotaged a few attempts purely out of that spite). He starts to politely demur, “Um, well, you see—“

“I’d do it myself, but she’s speaking with the king and I’d hate to interrupt; not to mention that I’ve taken so much of her time already…” she trails off nervously.

“Oh!” Merlin blurts, feeling quite suddenly foolish, “you mean, Gwen!”

Lady Elspeth cants her head to the side and frowns slightly. “Well, of course. Who did you think I’d meant?”

Merlin shakes his head, “Oh, no one in particular,” he hurries to say. “And, I’d be glad to take these to Gwen for you.”

“Oh you would?” She beams. “Thank you! I’d heard they were her favorite. Please tell her I appreciate all of her assistance these past few days. She’s been an absolute wonder.”

Merlin takes the dainty little wicker box. “I’ll be sure to convey that. And it’s no trouble.”

He manages to extract himself with only one final squeeze of his arm and another profuse flurry of thanks – though she’d looked so grateful he suspects she might’ve towed him in for a hug if he weren’t holding her gift for Gwen between them – and hurries back down the lane, carefully dodging in between townsfolk.

It only takes him a few minutes to catch up to Arthur and Gwen, who are browsing at the stall of a silversmith. They’re smiling – Gwen pointing out something on display and Arthur nodding - and there’s no tension between them; Merlin slows his approach to watch for a moment. Gwen touches Arthur’s hand, directing his attention to something else, but it’s a cursory gesture, nothing proprietary about it, and Arthur’s smiles are genuine but lacking that kind of befuddled look he used to get when he was smitten but trying to keep his emotions in check.

Friends, but nothing more. Merlin’s not sure why, but he’s especially glad to see it. Something eases in his chest.

“So, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says when he notices Merlin’s return, and turns to him with a leering grin. “What did the Lady Elspeth want?” He goes so far as to waggle his eyebrows again, though Merlin notices the eyes below them are slightly narrowed.

Gwen looks between them with amusement.

“If you must know,” Merlin replies cheekily, “she asked me to deliver these.” He holds out the little basket of ginger-honey treats.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Well, she hadn’t seemed the sort, but I guess I can’t be surprised.” He reaches out to take one and Merlin slaps his hand away.

“They’re not a gift for you, they’re for Gwen,” Merlin corrects, winking at Gwen. Arthur’s mouth –which had fallen open at Merlin’s audacity – snaps shut. His lips twist together in a sort of wry moue.

“For me?” Gwen asks, looking slightly startled. “How kind of her.” She takes the basket from Merlin and then holds it out to him, offering him a dainty, flowered cake. Her grin turns impish. “Please, help yourself, Merlin.”

“Why thank you, Gwen.” Merlin returns, grinning just the same. He makes a show of perusing, then selecting one of the confections and then pops it in his mouth and begins to chew with relish. He may even make a few appreciative noises, which leave Gwen giggling and Arthur rolling his eyes.

Although, the noises are genuine because the little cake is delicious. The ginger is sharp on his tongue, the texture a pleasant crunch, and the honey binding the little dessert together just misses being too cloying in its sweetness. Even the fresh violet on top is a piquant little bite that mingles well with the other flavors. His mouth starts to tingle after he swallows, and he wonders if that’s the ginger as well, or some other spice.

Gwen takes her own cake and though she takes a smaller bite, she does it with the same overplayed relish and then laughs delightedly when Arthur reaches for one and she ‘tsks’ him and dances the basket out of his reach.

The tingling on Merlin’s tongue seems to be increasing.

And it seems to be getting warmer…

He tugs at his collar, and then wafts the end of his scarf.

Merlin can see that Arthur’s about to say something, hears the start of words, but suddenly everything is buzzing and blurring.

He frowns and tries to say, “Arthur,” but it comes out as a slur of sound, the name too thick and his tongue too numb.

Vision dimming on the edges, Merlin can only watch as Arthur’s eyes go wide, hands grabs at him and though he can’t hear it, he thinks – just before darkness overtakes him entirely – that Arthur’s mouth is forming his name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Merlin?”

Blackness gives way to grey… awareness returns sluggishly.

It takes Merlin a too-long moment to recognize the voice saying his name. And even longer to place the softly repetitive pressure on his cheek as a hand patting it gently.

“Gaius?” he mumbles, wondering at the strange numbness in his lips.

“Merlin! You’re awake.” Gaius sounds surprised, which is slightly alarming. “How are you feeling?”

He takes stock, which isn’t easy as muzzy-headed as he still is. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, because he can tell that the light is going to drive into his brain like farrier’s nails.

In truth, Merlin’s head feels like the morning after an evening spent in the tavern with Gwaine, but he wants to reassure Gaius, so he says, “I’m fine.” Or at least, that’s what he means to say, but what comes out is, “I feel like I stayed all night in the tavern drinking with Gwaine.”

Gaius snorts out a breath, clearly not amused.

Merlin, on the other hand, is immediately concerned. He finally peeks open his eyes - and he was so right about the nails-of-pain - to see Gaius staring down at him in mild concern. Gaius places a hand over Merlin’s forehead, checks the pulse at his neck, and then pulls at Merlin’s eyelids to look in his eyes, grumbling under his breath the whole while.

Merlin tolerates this for a few minutes and then finally has to wave him away. He slowly sits up and rather gingerly shifts back on his bed until the wall can take his weight. It takes some effort to move even that much; his whole body aches. “Uh, Gaius. What happened?”

The last thing he remembers is being in the marketplace with Gwen and Arthur… he remembers laughing with Gwen, teasing Arthur, and then… nothing.

Gaius sits down on the edge of Merlin’s bed once he’s made room. “You were poisoned, Merlin. You and Guinevere.”

“Gwen!?” He looks frantically around the room, but there’s just Gaius in his room, and he can’t see out the door to check if Gwen is on Gaius’ cot. “Where is she?”

“She’s fine, Merlin,” Gaius hurries to reassure him. “She only got a small dose, and she was awake much sooner than you.”

Merlin frowns. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost two days, Merlin.” He sighs wearily and Merlin guesses from the heavy weight of the lines around his eyes, and the grey-cast pallor to his skin that Gaius has likely been awake that whole time.

“It was the cakes, right?” Merlin asks, memory of sweet and spice giving way to numbness. “I mean, that’s what got us?”

Gaius nods. “Yes. What do you remember? We know how the compound was administered in the cakes, but we’re still not entirely sure how it got in there. Or how they got delivered to Guinevere.”

“Lady Elspeth,” Merlin says immediately. “She was the one who gave them to me, to give to Gwen. Where is she?”

Gaius’ mouth gets that downward, troubled cast. “She’s in the dungeons. Immediately after you and Gwen collapsed in the streets, Arthur had his guards collect her. She did not try to flee or resist. She claims innocence. That she had no idea the confections she handed over were in any way tainted. But she can provide no explanation as to how that might’ve happened. She said she purchased them fresh from the baker, who has also been questioned.” The frown grows more pronounced.

“Strangely, he claims that he never made any ginger honeycakes with violets, so has no idea how they ended up for purchase amongst the rest of his wares. He thought he was selling her a simple basket of his own honeycakes. So one of them is lying. Or,” he allows, “somehow, someone else managed to slip these particular confections amidst the baker’s other goods, and Lady Elspeth was just unlucky enough to pick them up.”

Merlin thinks on what he remembers. “I don’t know, Gaius. I mean Lady Elspeth seemed quite genuine. She was nice to Gwen. And why would someone target Gwen in the first place. I could’ve understood if they were meant for Arthur but, for Gwen?”

“Perhaps they were originally intended for Arthur?” Gaius suggests. “We won’t rightly know until we understand where they came from.”

“What kind of poison was it?” Merlin asks. “Were you able to figure that out?”

Again, Gaius frowns. “Not entirely,” he admits. “Though, I do suspect that there was magic involved in its creation. It may not have been a poison at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, aside from knocking you and Gwen out for a period of time, so far it hasn’t caused any other ill effect.” Gaius shrugs. “And as fast acting as it was, it would never have been expected for anyone to consume a large quantity before it was noticed. Not to mention, there were only a handful of ginger cakes in that basket. I can’t even say for sure that if a person had consumed all of them, it would’ve done more than cause one to sleep a few more days.”

That confusion Merlin noted when trying to deflect Gaius’ question about how he’d been feeling comes to the fore of Merlin’s mind. And with it comes a sinking sort of suspicion. “Um, Gaius. Ask me a question.”

“What kind of a question, my boy?” One of Gaius’ sparse but wiry brows lifts. “And I just did ask you a question.”

“No.” Merlin shakes his head. “Not a question like that. Something simple. Something that you know the truth of.” The obvious suggestion comes to mind. “Ask me if I have magic.”

“Merlin,” Gaius hisses while his eyes flick towards the doorway.

“What? What is it?” Merlin looks around frantically once again, though as before there’s no one but him and Gaius in the room. He hasn’t heard anyone moving about in the outer chamber either. “Is someone here?”

Gaius shakes his head. “No, but the King’s been in and out of here with alarming regularity since you’ve been brought in. I finally had to chase him out of here once Guinevere was recovered enough to leave, though he’s taken to sending his knights in on his behalf.” He grumbles in that way that tells Merlin he’s actually quite pleased, though he’ll never admit it. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve shooed Gwaine and Percival and Elyan out of here. Even Leon has come by on the weakest of excuses, even though I’ve assured Arthur that I’d send for him the moment you were awake.”

Merlin lifts a brow; he _is_ awake and Gaius has done no such thing.

Only slightly culpable, Gaius waves that away. “Well, I’ll notify him shortly.” He waits a beat and then concedes under the weight of Merlin’s raised brow (a skill he blatantly copied from Gaius), “In just a few minutes then. He _has_ been rather worried.”

Merlin feels a funny sort of warmth in his stomach at the thought that Arthur is so concerned. “Well, that’s quite thoughtful of Arthur. Um, I mean, I’m sure he was worried about Gwen.”

“Merlin,” Gaius chides. “Of course he was concerned about Gwen, but he was also worried about you.”

“Right, um. Right.” Merlin’s starting to suddenly doubt his earlier concerns about what the effect of the poisoned cakes might be, as he’s having no trouble prevaricating and avoiding saying the things that he’d rather not say right now, in the context of this conversation.

But he needs to test his supposition. “So, back to what I was asking before, Gaius. Can you please just ask me that question?”

“All right, Merlin.” Gaius allows, though he’s eyeing Merlin oddly. He leans a bit closer and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you have magic?”

“No,” Merlin tries to say, but what comes out is, “Yes.”

He claps a hand over his mouth. “Gaius, we have a problem,” he says through the muffling of his own palm and fingers.

“What is it, my boy? That’s no secret to me.”

He lets the hand fall away as he admits, “I don’t think I can lie, Gaius. At least, not when I’m asked a direct question.” He twists his fingers into his neck scarf, unable to keep still. “Just now when you asked me that, I tried to lie to you but I couldn’t. I tried to say no, but I spoke the word yes.”

“Well that is alarming,” Gaius agrees, brows crawling up his forehead even as his expression goes speculative. “Although it would make quite a bit of sense. That’s the true purpose of the poison or potion or whatever it was that was in the cakes that affected you and Gwen.”

“You mean it was a truth spell?” Merlin asks. “I didn’t know such things were possible.”

Gaius sighs. “They certainly are, though they’re rare. It’s extremely difficult to compel someone to go against their nature, as you’ve experienced, as this type of magic does. It’s powerful magic of the Old Religion. I knew of only a few High Priestesses who could not only use such magic, but also infuse it into a potion. The use of something edible as a carrier for such a potion, like the ginger cakes was exceedingly clever.”

“And,” Merlin continues for him, feeling his lip curl off his teeth, “who do we know who’s well-versed in the Old Religion and is, I will admit, occasionally quite clever, and likely has a grudge against Guinevere, or myself, or Arthur or Camelot in general.”

“Morgana,” Gaius states with a sigh. “Though I’m unclear as to her motive. If you hadn’t eaten that first cake and Gwen had gotten them all, what damage would it have done for her to speak only truth upon direct questioning?”

Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t know.” And that’s the truth; he doesn’t have any idea. But he wants to find out. “All that comes to mind is maybe it’s got something to do with her relationship to Arthur?” He snorts bitterly. “There’s never been anything Morgana’s done that hasn’t been intended to affect Arthur in some way.”

“That is true.” Gaius nods. He studies Merlin a long moment. “So you’re sure you cannot lie?”

Merlin tries to answer that question dishonestly, but is unable to. “I’m quite sure,” he reluctantly replies. “I tried to lie to you just now, but the truth forced its way out. I was, I don’t know… compelled to tell you the truth.” He pauses, trying to reason it out. “I think,” he begins hesitantly; “I think maybe, I can be dishonest when I’m speaking for myself. I think it’s only when I’m asked a direct question that the truth is forced out.”

Gaius purses his lips together and makes a considering humming noise. “That is definitely concerning. We must continue to investigate this and I need to see if I can concoct some kind of antidote. In the meantime,” he cautions, “you’ll need to be especially careful around Arthur!”

Oh god, Arthur. Merlin hadn’t even thought of how this might affect things with Arthur. He could end up blurting out his deepest secrets if Arthur gets it in his head to ask any kind of questions.

“Perhaps we could tell him that I’m still being affected by the potion?” he suggests.

Gaius frowns. “That could be risky, Merlin. As I said, he’s been quite bothersome in checking up on you. If he learns that you’re awake, he might ask you directly how you’re feeling. You’ll have no choice but to tell him that you’re recovered.”

That’s true. And even if he were to feign sleep when Arthur’s around, he wouldn’t be able to do any of his own investigating into what’s going on. He wouldn’t be able to keep Arthur out of trouble, either.

“I think I’m just going to have to be cautious, Gaius. Perhaps spend as little time around Arthur as possible, while still going about my duties.” The more he thinks on it, with Arthur’s schedule these days, and everything he keeps Merlin doing, it probably won’t be that hard to steer clear of conversation. Especially as he’s been away from his chores for two days, and it’s unlikely that Arthur had anyone step in. Arthur’s strangely reluctant to let anyone else do Merlin’s work.

Decision made, he changes topics. “Do you have enough information to try and figure out an antidote or,” Merlin makes a vague gesture with one hand – he’s not quite sure what to call the thing they need, “or a counterspell?” A thought strikes him, “You don’t think this is permanent, do you?”

Gaius is quick to shake his head. “Oh, no. No, my boy. I’m sure there’s some remedy or another I can come up with that will fix this. I just need to figure out the magic that was involved. If, perhaps, the Lady Elspeth is involved somehow, she might be able to identify something of the workings of the spell. Or,” he allows, “the Baker. But if not, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out.” He pats rather noncommittally at Merlin’s arm.

Merlin’s about to ask about what he can do to help – even if it’s scouring through dusty tomes - when the sound of the door in the other room opening catches his ear. It’s followed immediately by Arthur calling out, “Gaius?”

“In here, your Highness.” Gaius answers, even as he waves his hands urgently at Merlin.

It takes Merlin a moment to realize that Gaius wants him to lie back down. Apparently Gaius wants him to look like he’s just woken up.

Arthur is in the room a split second after Merlin nestles his head back in the pillow and he blinks up at Arthur sleepily. Framed in the doorway, he’s holding himself there like he had to stop himself charging into the room. “You’re awake!” he says, unable to hide a wide grin.

Merlin returns it, feeling that odd heavy and warm _something_ squirm deep in his chest at knowing how pleased Arthur is to see him.

He stares at Merlin for a few seconds and then seems to realize what he’s doing. He coughs, swallowing down the grin – somewhat ineffectually because it’s still there in his cheeks and eyes – and then turns to Gaius. “I thought you said you were going to let me know the moment he woke up?”

Gaius gives a long-suffering sigh. “It has only been a few minutes, sire. And I needed to ascertain that he suffered no other ill-effects.” He looks like he very badly wants to roll his eyes at their king, but he limits himself to lifting a rather scathing eyebrow. “I was just about to notify you.”

Arthur nods, both mollified and slightly chastised. “Well, that’s good. Thank you, Gaius. And everything’s all right then?” He looks between Gaius and Merlin. “No other, uh, ill-effects?”

“No,” Gaius shakes his head. “He’s fine as far as I can tell. He seems to have suffered no more from his ordeal than an extended slumber, same as Gwen.”

Merlin knows he’s not mistaken when Arthur’s shoulders visibly droop, like he was shoring them up against some weight and it’s just been lifted. He looks looser and more relaxed than he had just a moment before. “Good. That’s very good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Again, Merlin feels that twist behind his ribs. It’s not often that Arthur will let others see him being so demonstrative of his feelings. Of course, then he has to go and act like a prat to cover it up.

Arthur clears his throat roughly and once again schools his features into something less obvious. “How soon before he can resume his regular duties?”

Gaius looks to Merlin. “As soon as he feels ready.”

Merlin doesn’t let himself sigh at Gaius’ deflection.

He supposes he could feign that he’s still feeling the effects, because he does want to avoid Arthur as much as possible – or at least Arthur’s direct questions and the chance that some truth might slip out – but, they also need to the bottom of this. Because if there’s more going on than they’re currently aware of, it could mean worse trouble for Gwen or himself, or even Arthur. There needs to be some explanation as to what’s been going on.

“I’m fine,” Merlin says. “I’m well enough to return to work.” He starts to sit up and then groans when his whole body protests; he really does feel like he’s recovering from a night of excess.

Arthur starts forward, a hand lifting out, but aborts the move abruptly. He uses the raised hand to gesture rather inanely. “No rush, Merlin. I mean, take the time you need.”

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin starts to protest, and then concedes when his head throbs, “well, perhaps in a bit. Once I’ve had a chance to dress and maybe have something to eat.” He looks at Gaius. “Breakfast? Or, lunch? I don’t actually know what time it is.”

“Lunch,” Arthur agrees. “It’s just after midday. But come back when you’re ready, Merlin.” Arthur’s carefully conciliatory tone is a bit unnerving.

Merlin nods. “Um, is there anything new from Lady Elspeth?”

Arthur shakes his head, expression going grim. “Nothing yet. I’ve been down to question her myself and she continues to profess her innocence. She claims to know nothing of what happened. Only that she was true in her intentions to buy Gwen a gift and that there was nothing untoward about it. She claims she doesn’t know where those poisoned cakes came from.”

Arthur’s mouth twists in a wry moue. “Of course, the baker claims he doesn’t know either.” He slaps at the doorframe in frustration. “I can only assume one of them is lying, but I’m hard pressed to tell who it is. The baker has been selling his wares in the lower town for years. Plus, even if the baker had made them, how would he have known who might’ve ended up buying them? Lady Elspeth, on the other hand, did deliberately set out to give them to Gwen. Still, I can’t say for sure.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Merlin hurries to say. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Right,” Arthur agrees. He stares at Merlin another of those long, weighty moments and Merlin stares back.

Gaius breaks the suddenly heavy silence with a harumph. “If that will be all, your highness,” he says pointedly, “I’ll see about getting Merlin some lunch and returning him to your service shortly.”

“Right,” Arthur says again with a hasty nod. He pushes himself off of the doorframe. “I’ll just,” he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. “I’ve duties to attend to.”

“Of course, your highness.”

Arthur gives one last little nod to Merlin and then he leaves.

They wait until his footsteps cross the room and are followed by the sounds of the outer chamber door closing.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, Merlin.” Gaius says brightly.

Merlin frowns at him. “Well, he didn’t ask any questions of me. At least none that I was keen to lie about.”

“I don’t think it’s very likely Arthur’s going to ask you anything that might get you into trouble, Merlin.” Gaius says with clearly feigned encouragement. He looks like he might attempt further platitudes, but then the fight goes out of him and he slumps forward, elbows on his knees, and sighs. “Or perhaps you’re right. This may be too risky. Maybe it would be better if I told the King that you’re still unwell.”

“No,” Merlin shakes his head. In the time that Arthur was in his doorway he made up his mind: he needs to figure out what’s going on. “I’ll take care, Gaius. Don’t you worry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin feels a thousand times better once he’s had a chance to get cleaned up, and into fresh clothes and had a hearty meal. There’s still a faint, lingering headache behind his eyes that pulses when he turns too fast, and his body has that ‘too much rest, too long abed’ sort of ache in his muscles, but he feels good to be up and doing something.

He’s about to leave Gaius’ chamber to go resume his duties for Arthur – not to mention start snooping around – when a thought occurs to him.

“Gaius?”

Gaius looks up from paging through one of the many tomes he’s got stacked on his work table. He’s been flipping from one to the next, thumbing through pages and muttering to himself. “What is it, Merlin?” he asks, a half-distracted eye already dropping back down to the book.

“Do you think I should go try to speak to Lady Elspeth? I mean, I’m the one she gave the cakes to. Maybe it did have something to do with me?”

“Well,” Gaius’ mouth purses. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. If she’s truly behind this, and has knowledge of the magic contained in the cakes, she may be waiting for that very opportunity. It could be her plan to trip you up.” He shrugs. “We know Morgana still has no idea who Emrys is, and that’s something she’s keen to learn. Maybe this is her intent.”

Merlin frowns. He hadn’t considered that. “Right, I suppose if she flat out asks me if I’m Emrys, I’ll have no choice but to tell her.” He blows out a breath through pursed lips. “I’ll have to think about this Gaius. I think I need to talk to her, to get more information. Even if she’s not working for Morgana, I have this feeling there’s something off about her.”

“Really? Why is that?” Gaius asks. “I’ll be honest, Merlin, I’ve spoken with her a few times myself while she’s been staying in Camelot and I hadn’t noticed anything.”

“What did you talk about?” This is the first he’s hearing that she and Gaius ever really spoke.

“Oh, just about books and history.” He taps the stack of books piled in the table. “She mentioned that she was interested in finding out more about her own ancestry and that of her late husband. From what I understand, she’s spent quite a bit of her time here in the library with Geoffrey.” His brows dip inward, eyes narrowing. “I don’t recall her asking after anything particularly unusual or concerning; nothing that strikes me as cause for alarm.”

“I don’t quite know what it is I’m feeling,” Merlin admits. “It’s only now that I’m realizing it though. I mean, she was pleasant to me and she seemed genuine in her affections for Gwen.” He shrugs. It’s hard to explain the strange feeling he gets when he thinks about his conversations with Lady Elspeth. The memory just doesn’t sit right. “It wasn’t something I’d noticed at the time, but looking back there’s just a feeling of something off. Maybe it’s something to do with my magic?” He lifts his shoulders in another quick shrug. “I suppose I’ll just have to find another way to question her, without directly talking to her.”

Immediately another idea comes to mind. “Or perhaps you could go down to see her, Gaius?” Really, he’s surprised he didn’t think of it sooner. It’s a much simpler solution.

Gaius nods. “I can definitely do that, Merlin. Though, I’d prefer to focus on this first,” he splays a hand over the sprawl of books. “If she is somehow responsible for this magic, I’d rather know ahead of time that we understand what kind of curse or spellcraft this is so we can reverse it. If I can conjure up an antidote quickly, all the better.”

“Right,” Merlin agrees. “Good thinking, Gaius.” He turns for the door. “I’ll try and get away from Arthur as soon as I can to come back and help you.”

“Just be careful, my boy.”

Merlin nods dutifully, “Don’t worry, Gaius. I will.”

In the halls of the castle, Merlin stops at a junction of corridors; going straight on will lead him to Arthur’s room or onto the great hall, but taking the right will bring him to the practice fields. He’s not sure the best place to go to avoid Arthur right now. Betting that Arthur’s already been-and-gone to the practice fields for the day – considering it’s late afternoon – it makes sense that Arthur would be in council and so he heads for Arthur’s quarters.

He knocks at the door, and is surprised when Arthur answers with a distracted, “Come.”

So much for avoiding Arthur.

Merlin peeks his head in the door. “Ready to return to duty, sire.”

Arthur looks up from where he’s sat at his desk with a quill in hand and a parchment unrolled in front of him and smiles a genuine and wide sort of grin. “Merlin!” He stares for several long seconds and then gives a little shake of his head. The smile tempers into something a little less… enthusiastic. “Um, it’s good you’re back. Perfect timing.” He waves him over. “Come here and tell me what you think of my speech to the Fishmongers Guild.”

Merlin wrinkles his nose as he crosses the room. “Fishmongers this week, is it?”

Arthur gives a theatrical sigh in agreement and pushes the parchment across the table.

He takes it up begins to read. It’s full of lots of rather complimentary words about grayling and salmon and other fishes, and appreciation for the guilds efforts in keeping Camelot stocked with fresh seafood. “Um, this is good,” he says after a few minutes, once he’s skimmed to the end of the document. He looks up to see that Arthur’s just staring at him again. Has he been doing that the whole time, Merlin wonders?

“How are you doing, really?” Arthur asks.

Merlin doesn’t curse – doesn’t outwardly react at all – though he’d like to, because there’s Arthur’s first direct question. At least this one is easy enough to answer. “Um, I’m all right,” he says slowly, feeling the truth struggle against the lie he wants to tell, like some battle waging across his tongue. “I still have a bit of a headache and uh, my body feels a bit like I’ve spent two days in the saddle and two nights camped on hard ground.” He smiles gamely, knowing Arthur won’t be thrilled with that answer.

“Oh, well.” Arthur frowns. “Gaius said you may need to rest further. Did you return to your duties too soon?”

Damn Arthur and his questions.

“No,” Merlin shakes his head. “I’m well enough to continue working.”

“Well good. That’s good.” Arthur says rather inanely. “Sometimes it’s best just to get back to work. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Merlin forces a smile. While he is glad that Arthur’s showing him so much concern, he’s none too thrilled at the truth being forced out of him. Though it’s not Arthur’s fault and he really can’t blame him. He takes a deep breath, and when he exhales his smile is much more natural. “I’m sure you’re right. So,” he hands back the parchment, “I can make a few minor tweaks, but otherwise it’s very good. Not too long, polite and complimentary without being obsequious.”

Arthur takes it back, but sets it aside immediately. “That’s good. Thank you, Merlin.”

“Something on your mind, sire?” Merlin asks, because Arthur looks pensive. He’s tapping two fingers on the edge of the desk, a sure sign of anxiety.

“It’s this situation with you and Gwen. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved you’re both okay. Believe me it was quite,” he scrubs a hand over his face and then pushes it through his hair, unsettling the tawny fringe. “Watching you and then Gwen collapse like that was… quite upsetting, I must admit. I thought for sure,” he swallows and doesn’t finish the sentence and isn’t able to meet Merlin’s gaze.

“At any rate,” Arthur goes on after an extended pause, “I would really like to get to the bottom of this. I could understand if those confections were meant for me; but I don’t understand why Gwen was the target.”

“You don’t think they were meant for Gwen?”

“Oh, I do.” Arthur states. He rubs at his chin, and it looks like he’s holding something back that he wants to say.

“What is it, Arthur?” Merlin asks. “Is there something you know?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, no. It’s nothing that I know. It’s just that, you know the way things are between Gwen and I; we’re friends, good friends, and I’m proud to have her on my council. I think… we’re in a good place.” He says it slowly like he’s still getting comfortable with the idea, or at least admitting it aloud. “You know better than anyone, Merlin, that I’m settled with what happened between us. But it’s possible someone else isn’t.”

He pushes away from the desk and stands, clearly unable to keep still. He rounds the desk, stopping only an arm’s length from Merlin. He leans in close, keeping his voice low. “What if this is someone who’s a bit too loyal to me and sees only her betrayal and not my forgiveness of it?”

Which is definitely something that hadn’t occurred to Merlin. As soon as Gaius shared that there was magic involved – even before realizing just what that magic was – Merlin immediately assumed Morgana. Well, to be fair, Gaius did say it had to be someone familiar with the Old Religion, and powerful as well; which doesn’t necessarily preclude it being someone other than Morgana, but still…

Since Arthur phrased it as a question, Merlin has to answer, but he’s got no truth here other than his own confusion. “I suppose that’s possible.” He might suspect Morgana, but he doesn’t know that she’s absolutely at fault. Apparently this counts as truth enough. “Have there been any threats to Gwen? Or have you heard anything that might lead you to believe this is some kind of attempt to punish her?”

Shaking his head again, Arthur replies, “Not that I’m aware of. Although, I don’t know that Gwen would tell me if she’s received any kind of threat or if someone had spoken ill of her and she’d gotten word of it.” His mouth twists up in a rueful smile. “She prefers to handle those things on her own, and doesn’t like to burden me with them.” He rolls his eyes, like the notion is inconceivable (Merlin knows Gwen would feel otherwise). “Though, I did ask her, when she woke up, if she could think of anyone that might have wanted to hurt her. But she couldn’t think of anyone.” His shoulders lift slowly, wearily, like they’re fighting some strong pull. “I can’t think of any other reason someone might want to hurt Gwen.”

“I don’t know if someone was trying to hurt her,” Merlin begins, choosing his words carefully.

Arthur cants his head to the side, eyes narrowing, and is just about to speak so Merlin interrupts.

“It’s just that Gaius” - he hurries because he doesn’t want to let Arthur get a chance to stop him with any questions - “well, he thought that perhaps the intent wasn’t to hurt anyone. That Gwen and me falling asleep was just a side effect of some kind of spell. That maybe these poisoned cakes had a different purpose. Maybe not as a poison at all, but some other kind of trickery.”

Damn, he’s already revealed too much. He didn’t mean to let that much slip out, but trying to think one step ahead of Arthur, and anticipate his questions to control the information isn’t easy. He already knows what Arthur’s next question is going to be.

“Gaius thinks this is some kind of magic?”

“Yes,” Merlin is forced to answer.

“I don’t understand. Gwen seems fine.” He grips Merlin’s arm. “Is she in any danger? Are you?”

“No, Gaius doesn’t think so.” Even if he has to answer with the truth, he can apparently stretch his responses within the possible meanings of questions. Arthur may not have meant physical danger, but Merlin’s choice to answer that way wasn’t prevented.

“What kind of—“

“Gaius doesn’t know, yet.” Merlin interrupts before Arthur can get the words out. And that adds further to Merlin’s knowledge about the limitations of this spell, because if Arthur doesn’t ask the question outright, he can stop it being asked. “Um, he said we should keep an eye out for anything unusual. But also that it may have backfired, or not had the intended effect. You know, putting us to sleep instead.”

“Well, perhaps I should go talk to Gaius about this. If Gwen or you,” he nods at Merlin and squeezes his bicep, “are in any danger, I don’t want to take any risks.”

“I assure you, I’m fine, Arthur. And Gwen is as well. Gaius wouldn’t have let us out of his care if he felt otherwise.”

That settles Arthur somewhat and his grip loosens. He draws his hand back, albeit slowly, letting his fingers trail down Merlin’s forearm before they fall away. “You’re right, Merlin. Still, I’d have to wonder what kind of magic someone might want to use on Gwen. And again, we’re back to my original question of who might want to do something like this to her.”

Merlin’s about to exhale a sigh of relief when Arthur looks at him again and asks, “Can you think of anyone who might want to do this?”

“Morgana.” The name grits out between Merlin’s clenched teeth, but he can’t stop it escaping. He does bite down on any follow-up, letting that one word be enough to satisfy the curse that has its hold on him.

“Morgana?” Arthur echoes, eyes going wide. “Oh, I hadn’t even considered that. We’ve heard so little of her over the past two years. But I suppose you’re right. It very well could be her. I mean, she’s got as much reason to dislike Gwen as she does me at this point, I think.”

Merlin nods. “Yes, that’s very true.”

Arthur takes a step back, settling his weight on the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, and Merlin can see that he’s rolling the ring on his forefinger – his mother’s ring - with his thumb. It’s something he does when he’s anxious or thinking deeply or worrying over something. “This is quite the situation, isn’t it Merlin?”

And Merlin can’t disagree with that. “Yes it is, sire.”

That gets a grunt of something that’s not quite amusement, and then Arthur falls silent. He’s still fidgeting with the ring. Merlin waits, anxious and trying to think of an excuse to flee before Arthur starts talking again.

Luckily, they’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Arthur calls out.

Leon steps in. “Sire, the delegation from Caerleon is here.”

“Right,” Arthur pushes up from the desk. “Thank you, Leon. I’ll join you in the great hall in just a moment.”

Leon nods and then exits, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Well they’re early,” Arthur grumbles. He looks around a moment then back up at Merlin. “I should change into something a bit more appropriate. I’d rather not make them wait, though.” He holds out his arms and gestures at himself with a hand. “Do I look kingly enough in this?”

“You always look kingly, Arthur,” Merlin absolutely doesn’t mean to reply. Where was his simple ‘yes’ in that situation? “Uh, yes.” He tacks on belatedly, feeling his cheeks and neck go warm.

Arthur smiles in that way he has that almost looks bemused, when his lower lip presses up and it seems like he should be frowning. “That’s kind of you to say, Merlin.” He steps forward and claps Merlin on the shoulder a bit roughly. “Perhaps just my cloak and crown then.”

“Right, I’ll fetch them.” Merlin hurries to do so, since he can’t very well crawl under the bed or in the cupboard to hide his utter mortification.

Just before Arthur heads out the door, while Merlin begins to straighten up his room, he pauses. “Don’t overdo it, all right?” he cautions, nodding toward the room. “Take care.”

Not trusting himself to answer aloud, Merlin just smiles and bobs his head in acknowledgement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin is just finishing up with straightening Arthur’s room – which is taking him twice as long as normal both because the space has gotten impossibly messy in just two short days, and because he’s not taking any magical shortcuts (on the off chance Arthur asks him how he finished so quickly) – when Gwen pokes her head into the room.

“Oh, Merlin, there you are!” She says brightly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “I stopped by Gaius to see you and he said you were awake and had returned to work. So,” -she gestures towards him and the room- “here you are.”

Oddly, she turns to double-check the door is closed behind her and then crosses the room to where Merlin is finishing with putting Arthur’s clean laundry back in the wardrobe. “So, Merlin. How are you feeling?”

Though he’s getting a little tired of fielding this question, Merlin doesn’t sigh. “I’m all right, Gwen. A little tired still, a bit body-sore and my head hurts a bit, but I’m feeling much better.” At least he’s able to keep it a bit more succinct each time.

“That’s good,” she smiles. “That you’re feeling better. And the rest of it will go away in time. I mean, it did for me. I felt just like you described when I first woke up. Of course it didn’t last as long for me, so it may take a bit longer for you to feel better, but…” she trails off, chewing at her bottom lip. That – as well as the babble - tell Merlin she’s nervous about something. “Um, Merlin, I was wondering something.”

It’s then that Merlin remembers that they don’t know if Gwen’s been affected the same way by the magic imbued in the cakes, and neither he nor Gaius had thought to tell her what was going on. He could slap himself for being so self-absorbed. “Are you feeling okay, Gwen?” he asks, and then waves the question away before he can answer. “Wait, wait. No, don’t answer that. Come here.”

He takes her by the hand and guides her over to Arthur’s table. Once they’re both seated he says, “Look, um. I think I may know what you wanted to ask. ” He pauses, thinking carefully about how to broach the subject without asking any questions. Unfortunately he’ll likely have to ask something. “Were you going to ask me if I’d noticed anything strange since I woke up?”

Gwen nods. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I was looking to talk to you about. I’m finding myself, er…” she catches one hand in the other on the tabletop, twisting them together. “Sometimes, when someone asks me something, well sometimes I say the things I might not always say.”

Merlin smiles, because that’s such a very ‘Gwen’ way of saying that she wants to lie through her teeth, but can’t.

“Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Merlin is forced to answer. “I do.” He leans forward on his elbows. “You see, Gaius and I have learned that whatever was put into those cakes that knocked us out, may have had another effect.”

Gwen sighs, but she clearly knew this was coming. “Right. Well I hadn’t wanted to say anything at first, because I thought it was just me. I didn’t even put two and two together with what happened with the cakes, at first. But,” –she gives a half-hearted little shrug- “it’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it?”

Merlin nods.

“So, you know what’s going on with us then?”

“Yes,” Merlin says again, because it’s the truth. The nice thing is, he realizes, is that while he’s compelled to give a truthful answer, he’s not necessarily spurred to expand upon it. So he can get away with simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers. Of course he wants to tell Gwen what’s going on, so he does. “Well, Gaius and I think that there’s some kind of magic used on the cakes and that it forces us,” –he gestures between the two of them- “to tell the truth. At least,” he amends, because this is an important distinction, “when we’re asked direction questions.”

Gwen covers her mouth with a hand but nods, like that’s what she expected. “Oh dear,” she says into her fingertips.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit… well, a lot awkward, to be honest. But, Gaius is working on it,” he hurries to reassure her. “He’s sure there’s an antidote or something that he can come up with that will fix this problem. In the meantime,” –he lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug- “maybe it’s best if we stay away from people as much as possible. I don’t know that we want to make this common knowledge.”

“Does Arthur know?” she asks, and he can’t blame her for the question.

“Not yet,” Merlin admits, because he doesn’t know if he’s going to tell him or not. “Um, I mean, he probably should know what’s going on. That way he can avoid telling either of us anything that’s a matter of secrecy to the crown, and so we won’t be able to give anything away if whoever’s responsible should happen to question us. But still, um… I haven’t quite told him yet.”

“Why not?” And her hand flies back up to her mouth again (having finally drifted back down to the table to twine her fingers in restless knots). “Sorry, I—“ she begins, but Merlin’s already talking before she can take it back.

“Because I have secrets I don’t want him to know.” He explains, cringing even as the words leave his mouth.

“Sorry,” Gwen repeats. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s okay, I mean, I won’t say anything,” she says, hurrying to placate him. “I mean, I won’t ask, either.” She stumbles around trying to find words. “I do think we should tell him, but… I mean, you know Arthur. He may…” she trails off.

“Right,” Merlin agrees, because he knows exactly what she’s trying to say. “I know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt either of us, but he’s always curious about things and doesn’t like not knowing, or feeling like someone’s keeping something from him.”

“You’re afraid he’s going to ask things you don’t want to share, aren’t you?” She doesn’t apologize for the question, as it’s almost a rhetorical, but Merlin answers it anyway.

“Yeah,” Merlin nods; because Gwen obviously feels the same way. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Arthur, or thinks Arthur might try to force things out of him deliberately, but he knows that deep down Arthur can be very insecure and that might make it hard for him to keep from asking things he worries after.

“I understand,” Gwen gives a firm nod. “I’ll leave that up to you, then. In the meantime, you and I, at least, can avoid asking each other anything that might cause each other trouble. And perhaps I can see if there’s any way that I can help Gaius. The sooner we can get put back to normal, the better.”

That’s not a bad idea. She won’t necessarily be able to help with the magic aspect of things, but if there’s any information she can provide about the effects of the spell, it certainly couldn’t hurt. “Gaius would like that.”

“Also,” she goes on, “I was thinking of going down to talk to Lady Elspeth in the dungeon. What do you…”she trails off a moment, frowning, and then continues, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

Merlin grins. She’s getting the hang of it. “I think that could be a good idea. I know Gaius wants to talk to her as well. Though I’d advise caution, just in case she really is involved in this.” He sighs. “I still have trouble believing she’s behind this. I dunno, she just seems so—“

“Nice,” Gwen supplies. “She’s been very kind and friendly. It doesn’t seem at all like her.” She shrugs. “Though, I suppose I don’t know her very well at all. I’ve only spoken with her a few times and our conversations were rather simple. I mean, she asked for my opinion on some shops and sellers in the market place, and we talked about perfumeries and the best place to buy silks. She did gossip a bit about some of the knights,” Gwen smirks. “Though, not nearly as much as some of the other ladies do. And nothing that wasn’t already being talked about by the staff, or making its way through the court. I wondered if maybe she wasn’t a bit enamored with one of them.”

“I wonder which one?” Merlin says carefully, so it’s not a direct question to Gwen, but just a thought given voice.

“I’m not sure.” Gwen replies, tapping neatly trimmed fingernails on the table. “She did ask if any of them favored any fragrance or scent. She’s awfully fond of wearing it, apparently.”

Merlin recalls the faintly sweet, floral scent he’d picked up on when speaking with her. “Yes, I remember that.” It doesn’t really tell him anything regarding her guilt or innocence, but it’s a bit more to go on. He can mention it to Gaius, at least. “Well, as I said. If you decide to see her, just be cautious. If she asks strange questions or seems to be directing you to talk about anything unusual, don’t stick around.”

“Of course.” She goes quiet a moment, chewing at her lip in thought. “Then, I’m going down to talk to her,” Gwen says and she’s got her chin set in that stubborn way that tells Merlin that he’s not going to be able to talk her out of it.

Merlin nods. “If you think that’s a good idea, Gwen. Jost don’t forget that if she’s behind this, she knows what that poison was intended to do. You could be playing right into her hands.”

The tightening around her mouth loosens a fraction but Gwen still shakes her head and says, “I do know that Merlin, but I need to talk to her. It’s just that if this is Morgana at work, I’m finding it so hard to believe that Lady Elspeth is somehow involved.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how else to explain it, Merlin. There’s something about her. “She scrunches up her nose in that puzzled way she sometimes does. “Do you know what I mean?”

Merlin is forced to agree, “Actually yes, and that’s what worries me. Just promise me you’ll be careful. If she seems like she’s aware of what’s going on—“

“I know, Merlin. And I’ll be careful. If she asks me anything that seems even a little bit like it might be something that Morgana might want to pry into - anything about Arthur or the Kingdom or any of the decisions the council have made – I will leave immediately.”

“Sounds good,” Merlin agrees.

Gwen takes a deep breath. “Well, no time like the present. I’ll see you later then,” Gwen says, pitching it just at the last second so that it’s a statement and not a question.

“Yes. I’ll see you later.”

When Gwen turns and doesn’t start in the direction of the dungeons right away Merlin has to ask, “Where are you... No, uh, I mean, I thought you were—“ He trails to a clumsy end, to stop from asking anything outright.

Looking over her shoulder Gwen replies. “Oh, I am in just a few minutes. First I thought I’d stop by the kitchens and get Elspeth something to eat.” She shrugs a little culpably. “I know she might be working for Morgana, but she was still kind to me; plus I know what it was like to face a meal in those dungeons.”

Merlin grins. He completely understands her reasoning. “Yeah, me too. Good luck, Gwen. And let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin follows Gwen out of Arthur’s room and turns for Gaius’, planning to see how he’s progressing with the potion. He’s idly considering that it would be interesting to be a proverbial insect on the wall, to hear what Gwen and Elspeth have to say to each other, but he doesn’t want to give Elspeth the opportunity to ask him anything (selfish as it may be, his secrets are a much greater risk than Gwen’s). He stops, abruptly, and all but slaps himself on the forehead for missing the obvious.

Elspeth doesn’t have to know he’s there!

Neither does Gwen for that matter. Though it feels incredibly deceitful to consider spying on them, he may be able to pick up on things that Gwen might overlook as unimportant or mundane.

Perhaps he should consider letting Gwen know?

He thinks on it a minute and decides it would be best if he doesn’t make his presence known to Gwen, at least not right away. If she knows, it might color the things Gwen talks about, or might even give Gwen the chance unintentionally to give him away. He doesn’t necessarily want to pry into Gwen’s business, or the Lady Elspeth’s for that matter (as long as it’s genuine), but he does need to know what’s going on.

Decision made, he sneaks down to the dungeons, using some very crude magical misdirection to distract the guards (it would be alarming how easy it is, if it weren’t for the fact that Merlin takes advantage of that fact far too often). He keeps himself hidden, out of sight of the far cell at the end of the corridor where they’ve got Lady Elspeth locked up. There’s one just around the corner that’s empty (they’re all currently empty except hers) that he manages to creep into quietly and without being spotted. Once inside, he tucks himself away into a corner where he won’t be in view of anyone passing by, but should still have a good chance of overhearing any conversation.

He doesn’t have long to wait. It’s only a few minutes later that he hears Gwen talking to the guards and then making her way to Lady Elspeth’s cell.

“Oh, Lady Guinevere!”

Merlin hears the sounds of cloth rustling and boots tapping on stone and bars squeaking. He can’t see, but he can readily picture Lady Elspeth getting to her feet and coming to the bars, perhaps eager to see a friend.

“Hello, Lady Elspeth,” Gwen says cheerily. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to come down sooner.”

“No, no. Lady Guinevere, I’m the one who is sorry,” Lady Elspeth gushes. “I’m so relieved to see that you’re all right.”

Merlin has to give her credit, she sounds sincere enough.

“I am, thank you” Gwen replies, carefully.

“And how is Merlin?”

And there’s the first direction question; but as it’s a logical one to ask, Merlin can’t really find fault with it.

“He’s awake. He’s doing well.” Gwen keeps her answers short. Luckily, once that initial truth comes out, the compulsion seems satisfied, so she doesn’t have to go on and on at least. “It took him a bit longer to come out of it, but he’s up and about again.”

Another safe, innocuous thing to say.

Lady Elspeth lets out a dreadful sound. “Oh, you must believe that I would never try to hurt either of you. And, I just don’t know what could have happened. I just wanted to buy you a gift to thank you, Guinevere. And you mentioned those ginger cakes were your favorite.” There’s a soft, shushing sound, almost like parchment sliding against itself, that accompanies her words, and Merlin can suddenly visualize that she’s wringing her hands over and over.

“I brought you something,” Gwen says, not directly addressing the topic of Elspeth’s guilt or innocence, which is smart, Merlin thinks. “It’s just a few things from the kitchen. I know how terrible the food here can be. They don’t really give you much of anything do they?”

There are more sounds of the bars rattling, and of shuffling movements and even rather loud chewing after that. Not that Merlin can blame Elspeth for being hungry.

“Thank you, Lady Guinevere,” Elspeth finally says a few minutes later. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such kindness from you. Especially after all of this.”

“It’s nothing,” Gwen demurs. “I know that you’ve been questioned several times already, Lady Elspeth, but I have to ask you if you know anything that can help us?”

There’s another long silence before Lady Elspeth responds. “No, Guinevere, though I wish I did.”

“You can understand that without knowing how those cakes got into your hand to be delivered to me, that Arthur has no choice but to suspect…” she trails off.

Elspeth sounds even more distraught. “I do understand that. And I wish I had a way I could prove my innocence to you. Has the King discovered nothing else about who’s responsible?”

Merlin perks up, listening carefully, because that seems a bit too direct.

“No,” Gwen says shortly.

She got lucky in the way that was asked. If Elspeth had worded it vaguely – instead of with the direct reference to Arthur – Gwen would’ve been forced to admit what she knows of Merlin’s theories about Morgana. Which leads him to wonder if that was deliberate on Elspeth’s part, or just blind luck.

“I can only hope that he’s able to find something. I don’t know what the King will do with me, but I don’t know how much longer I can manage down here.” She does sound rather despondent. If she’s feigning, it’s well-acted. Her voice is thick with tears and there’s a genuine sort of desperation to her words.

“I hope he’s able to find something as well. I’m sure he will,” Gwen tells her, forcing (at least Merlin thinks it’s forced) a bright and positive tone. “Is there anything else I can get you, by the way? I know there’s very little in the way of comfort, and I’ll likely not be able to do much, but if there’s anything I can do to help?”

“Would it be possible to get a blanket?” Elspeth asks. “The one in here is rather moth-eaten and does little against the chill.”

“Yes, it would be possible.” The uncontrollable response to the question is a bit stiffly spoken, but the follow up is a kindly, “I can do that. I’m sure Arthur would allow it.”

“You think he would?”

It sounds to Merlin like Elspeth is perking up a bit. Whether it’s the offer of kindness and a friendly voice or something else entirely, remains to be seen.

“Yes,” Gwen agrees, “I do think Arthur would allow it.” Which is another truth that doesn’t give anything away. Hell, even Merlin knows that Arthur is conflicted about keeping Lady Elspeth locked up since they don’t know the extent of her involvement (if any).

“Oh that would be wonderful,” Elspeth replies quite gratefully. “I must admit it comes as such a comfort knowing that there’s someone in Camelot who is concerned for my well-being. Thank you, Lady Guinevere.”

“Just Gwen, is fine,” Gwen insists. “Lady Elspeth—“

“Please, if I’m to just call you Gwen, you must call me Elspeth.”

“Elspeth, then,” Merlin can hear the smile in Gwen’s voice. “Can I ask; have you encountered anyone strange in your travels before you came to Camelot? Did anyone approach you or did anything unusual or memorable happen on your journey here?”

Silence follows again, though not unexpected. Merlin assumes she’s considering the question.

Finally Lady Elspeth replies, “Nothing that I can think of. I was a bit distraught over the situation at my home, and rather relieved to have gotten the King’s permission to come to Camelot and stay. The journey itself was pleasant enough.” Her tone rises sharply. “Do you suspect something? That something may have happened while I was traveling?”

Damn, it’s another question. Merlin waits anxiously to see how Gwen will answer.

“Perhaps,” Gwen says, and Merlin smiles. Gwen’s getting the hang of this. She’s learning how to let the simplest truth out, allowing for flexibility in her understanding of the question. “We don’t know what or when something could’ve happened, but it’s something I don’t think we’ve considered before.”

Merlin’s grin falls away; with that Gwen said too much.

“Who could do such a thing?”

Before Merlin can even consider revealing himself to stop her, Gwen blurts out, “Morgana Pendragon.”

“Morgana?” Elspeth repeats, sounding startled. “You think that she had something to do with this?

“Yes,” Gwen says, voice going sharp and the word is bitten off quickly at the end; she’s starting to sound the same way that Merlin feels: wary and frustrated.

Elspeth, as far as Merlin can tell from her tone, doesn’t seem to realize it. “Oh, well, I’d heard of some of that business, of course. But I’d met the Lady Morgana several years ago in my last time at Camelot, and I think I’d remember if I were to have run into her on the road.”

“And you encountered no other travelers or strangers?” Gwen asks, just a hair too urgently.

“Well,” Elspeth hesitates, “we did pass through several villages and I stayed at a number of inns along the way. I suppose I kept to myself mostly, though I did speak to people sometimes.” She sighs heavily. “Again, I knew the Lady Morgana, and though it’s been quite a few years, I would think that I’d recognize her. How could she have done something like this?”

“Using magic,” Gwen answers tightly.

Merlin bites his tongue to hold back a curse. The question sounded innocent enough, but… perhaps a trifle too innocent? Either that or Merlin’s just utterly paranoid.

“Oh,” Elspeth says, and Merlin can picture her lips shaped in a ‘O’ as she lets the sound carry on for a few long seconds. “I guess I hadn’t considered that. I mean, I’d heard rumors, of course. But I didn’t know what to believe. If I may be perfectly honest, Gwen, I was surprised by some of the things that had reached me, as they just didn’t sit with the memories I have.”

Elspeth hesitates just a moment, and then seems to forge on, albeit with some temerity. “When I was last in Camelot and spent time with the Lady Morgana, she was a bit of a precocious sort for her age, and defiant as well if I recall, but still a lovely, sweet child. And very kind to me. Although, she’d more likely be found sneaking to the practice fields on the heels of young Prince Arthur, or off to the stables to go riding, than sitting for her dress-fittings or her lessons. I still remember her as a thoughtful and kind girl for all of that.” The latter sounds rather fond.

“Yes,” Gwen agrees sadly, “that was the Morgana I knew as well. I was her maid for many years.”

“What happened to her then? That she’s become this person of such dark rumors?”

Again, Merlin debates stopping this, but then thinks better of it. After all, what harm? What could Gwen reveal about Morgana that someone who is possibly in league with her might benefit from hearing?

“I don’t entirely know,” Gwen begins, and Merlin hears her caution and can tell she’s fighting the answer.

“Oh,” Elspeth says before Gwen can continue. “I thought… well, since you were close, at least I assume if you were her maid, you might have some idea.”

Gwen makes an affirming noise. “I do, somewhat. It’s just that much of the reasons are things I only learned later. And some of it still doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t entirely know what turned her so strongly away from her family; from Arthur and even Uther,”-she pauses to sniff derisively-“well, maybe not Uther. But, even with him, I think all of it started when she discovered she had magic. It scared her, because Uther hated magic and anything to do with it. And, let’s just say that I don’t think any of us would’ve put it past him to see a sorcerer first, and his ward second.

“And, well,”-Gwen huffs another wry-sounding breath-“though we didn’t know it back then, Morgana was actually Uther’s daughter. Which, I guess, is another thing that drove that distance and that wedge between them and pushed her further into darkness. I mean, he never even acknowledged her until after she’d already turned on us all. There was someone else, though; someone that I think may have played a large part in what influenced the terrible changes in Morgana.”

“Oh?” Elspeth says again, and there’s something strange in her tone. “Who was that?” she asks.

Merlin wonders if he’s just imagining the slight rise in the pitch of her voice.

Gwen sighs. “There was a woman. Her name was Morgause. She came to Camelot once to challenge Arthur. And, I don’t even know the entirety of why that happened or what her purpose was. But, while she was in Camelot, I know she spoke with Morgana at least once. Sometime during her visit, she gave Morgana a bracelet. From what I know now, they were sisters, somehow. Though I’ve never been quite sure if Morgause was the daughter of Morgana’s mother or if they weren’t actually related by blood, and perhaps Morgause was the daughter of the man that Morgana thought was her father.”

She pauses a moment and Merlin can picture her giving a helpless little shrug.

“But Morgause was definitely one of the things that changed Morgana. She became cold and harsh and distant after that. We used to be able to talk about anything, and she never treated me like her maid, but as a friend. She even risked her life to save me.”

“Really?” Elspeth interrupts, clearly intrigued.

“Oh yes. I’d escorted her on a visit to her father’s grave. Well, the man she’d always thought was her father. Gorlois he was called. Morgana often made a pilgrimage there, especially at the anniversary of his death. We were returning and were set-upon by bandits. We were captured and they wanted to keep Morgana for ransom. Morgana was brave as any knight and just as skilled with a sword as any bandit. She almost got us free from those awful men, but then I fell and turned my ankle, and Morgana didn’t want to leave me behind.” Gwen sighs, heavily. “She was willing to risk being captured again, just to save me. But I insisted she get away.

“After that, I was taken prisoner and instructed to impersonate Morgana as the bandit leader still wanted to get his ransom. When she returned to Camelot, Morgana went to Uther and tried to force him to send a patrol to rescue me. When he refused, I was told she was ready to strong-arm Arthur into coming after me, until she discovered he’d already planned to do so.” Another of those heavy, sad sighs gusts out. “She was so loyal back then, and so selfless. I so wish she’d have confided in me, and that I’d known what was happening to her and been able to help. I sometimes think that even one friendly ear might’ve helped. I suppose I’ll never know why she didn’t feel she could trust me.”

Merlin feels his own entombed guilt over Morgana begin to surface. He’d thought those feelings well-buried beneath a firm layer of contempt that Morgana’s actions over the last few years had built-up.

“You sound as if you cared for her very much,” Elspeth observes. There’s a sorrow in her voice that echoes Gwen’s.

“Oh, I did,” Gwen agrees fervently. “Even after all the terrible things she’s done, even after she’s hurt me so deeply, there’s still a part of me that wishes we could get her back. The old, dear Morgana. That this is all some dark spell clouding her judgment.” Gwen blows out a breath. “Well, there’s no use wishing, is there? She’s turned on us and is lost to us forever. Wishing it were otherwise, won’t make it so.”

“Yes, but from all I’ve heard that she’s done, even if she were to come back and confess her crimes and beg your forgiveness, is there any way you could give it?”

It’s not an unfair question, but again, something about it tickles another of Merlin’s senses.

“Yes,” Gwen answers, and from the way she expels the word like she wasn’t sure what shape it would take coming out, she’s as surprised to have admitted it as Merlin is to hear it. “I, um… well, I suppose I should…”

Elspeth makes apologetic, fretful tutting sounds. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s all right,” Gwen hurries to reassure her. “It’s just a difficult topic.”

“I completely understand. I really didn’t mean to chatter on. It’s just,” she goes silent and Merlin can hear rustling noises again. Is she gesturing or signaling something? “The conversation helps, I’ll admit, I don’t feel so confined. Thank you for that, Gwen. I’m still so nervous about what the King will do with me.”

“I’m glad I can help take your mind off of things. And I know it may be quite difficult, but please try to have faith that it will all work out. Arthur’s a very good man. Just and fair.” Gwen says, firm in her convictions. “He’ll do what is right.”

“Oh, I know.” Elspeth agrees. “He’s been nothing but civil to me, even when he had me brought down here. I could see that he was quite frantic with worry, but he still ensured I was treated with as much dignity as possible. I only hope he’s able to find some way to be assured of my innocence in all of this.”

Gwen makes an affirming noise. “I know Arthur will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this. You can count on that.”

Elspeth sounds fond when she asks, “You care for him a great deal, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” Gwen answers immediately and Merlin knows that even if she weren’t compelled to do so, Gwen would have no compunction about answering that question honestly.

“I know it’s a bit indelicate to ask,” Elspeth begins, but she trails off without asking a question.

Merlin sighs in relief. Any unasked question is a good thing.

Gwen, who must understand what Elspeth is getting at, seems to have no issues with responding to the unvoiced query though. “It didn’t work out. But that’s for the better. We’re in a much better place now.”

Oh! She’s talking about her and Arthur. Merlin suddenly feels the guilt of eavesdropping, when none of the previous conversation put him in that frame of mind.

“We’re friends now and that’s something I cherish.”

“But do you love him still?” Elsepth sounds genuinely curious.

Merlin definitely feels like he should sneak away. He shouldn’t be witness to this. It clenches at his heart to hear Gwen’s answer -

“Yes, of course.”

\- because he thought they were both past that, and had moved on. To hear otherwise… well, he’s not sure why it upsets him so much. But then Gwen goes on.

“As my friend, though; not as anything more. I know I will always love Arthur, in some way. But I am so happy and content with how things are between us. It is how things are truly meant to be for us.”

“Oh, I do understand that,” Elspeth says, very much commiserating. “Before I married my Seigfrid, when I was quite young and foolish both, not to mention a bit wild at heart, I’d known another love. He was a peasant and my father disapproved, so it was doomed from the start. Still, I think I’d have disobeyed my father over that man, except he was called away by his own family to return to their farms in Haldor after his eldest brother was killed in a raid.”

Elspeth sighs wistfully. “I never saw him again. And for some time after I rather dramatically swore I’d never find love again. But I was so young, and it was as much defiance as it was real fervor. By the time I met Seigfrid, I’d matured in both years and in my heart. And ours was a love that didn’t so much burn hot and fiery, like that first love; instead it was a steady, lasting comfort.” This sigh is much more forlorn. “And after I lost my Seigfrid, I never did love another.”

“And you’ve met no one else that has given you reason to think you might find love again?” Gwen asks.

“No. I don’t think I’ve closed my heart to the possibility, but I’ve been content without it. But, what of you, Gwen? Of men other than Arthur? Have you known other loves?”

Merlin knows he should slip out – this is way too personal and Gwen is going to kill him when (not if) she finds out he’s overheard it - but he still can’t help but be leery of every question Elspeth asks. What if this is a ploy to get Gwen to open up to her? Perhaps he’s being overly-cautious, but it seems that Elspeth is taking an unhealthy interest in Gwen’s personal life. As uncomfortable as this line of discussion makes him, Merlin just doesn’t feel comfortable about leaving Gwen alone down here.

“I have,” Gwen says slowly.

“Do you want to tell me about them?” It’s strange that she phrases it as a question.

Stranger still that Gwen answers, “Yes, I think I do. There was a man, a Knight of Camelot. His name was Lancelot and he was handsome and brave and true, and I loved him dearly.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.” Gwen says it so softly Merlin can hardly hear the words. “He sacrificed himself to save the kingdom. And to save Arthur.”

“Oh my. I’m so sorry. He sounds very brave.” Elspeth says after a long moment.

“He was.” Gwen agrees sadly. “It was because of Morgana that he died, actually. It was her magic, or something that she and that Morgause did that caused a terrible evil to be unleashed on Camelot and the whole kingdom. To stop it required the sacrifice of a life. Arthur intended to be the one to give up his life, but somehow, Lancelot took it upon himself. I think,”-she hiccups out a small sound that could very well be a sob,-“the very worst thing about it is that before they’d begun their journey, I asked him to keep Arthur safe. I think he did it for me.”

“Oh, Gwen. I’m so terribly sorry, dear. What an awful thing. And you say that Morgana was the cause, and yet you could forgive her.” The way Elspeth says it, it’s not a question. “I don’t know how you have that much room in your heart, Gwen.”

Gwen’s responding exhale is loud, like she’s blowing the breath out through pursed lips. “As much pain as she’s caused me and those I love, I will always remember the Morgana I once knew as my friend, whom I loved very much. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give up hope that whatever influence that Morgause, or the darkness of magic, has on her will lose its hold, and she’ll remember how much we all loved her, and how important she was to us.”

“That’s a very generous thought. You’ve such a good heart, Gwen.”

Gwen lets out a little self-deprecating chortle. “Perhaps. Or a foolish one.”

“You know,” Elspeth says, strangely abrupt, “I’m suddenly reminded of a strange conversation I did have in an Inn. Perhaps it’s all this talk of magic and the like, but it just came back to me.”

“Oh? What do you remember?”

“Well, I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I was at an Inn and I was in the common room having a meal. This elderly woman sat down with me. I couldn’t say how old she was; except that I remember thinking that she was perhaps the oldest person I’d likely ever met. She was mostly unremarkable except for her age. She seemed kindly enough, but she asked me some rather strange questions which I didn’t remember until just now.”

“What questions?” Gwen asks curiously.

“She was looking for someone and wanted to know if I knew who they were.” She makes a clicking sort of noise with her tongue and teeth. “It was such a strange name. Let me think on it a moment.” She sighs in frustration. “It’s just not coming to me.”

There’s a very long silence and Merlin figures that she’s not likely to remember. It seemed like a long shot anyway.

Then suddenly Elspeth asks, “Do you know who Emrys is?”

Merlin sits bolt upright, and then forces himself to stillness. He holds his breath.

The question’s been asked, so Gwen has to answer. Fortunately for Merlin’s sake, Gwen’s response is a puzzled, “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.”

“Oh, well that’s what she asked me,” Elspeth hurries to say.

Dammit. Merlin spits out the curse silently. That’s what this has been leading up to.

A thought bursts, unbidden and fully formed, into Merlin’s mind then: that’s _not_ the real Lady Elspeth in the cell across the corridor.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’ve encountered magic where a sorcerer – or even someone with no magic of their own – took on the guise of another person. He never even thought to check (or suggest that Arthur check) if Lady Elspeth is wearing any strange jewelry. Nor has he seen her reflection in a mirror he realizes, thinking back to his very first days in Camelot when he was given the duty as Arthur’s manservant.

That is Morgana in the cell. He’s certain of it.

But what is her game? What is it that’s keeping her around? If she truly wanted, she could be free of that cell with little more than a word.

He needs Gaius to find an antidote, and fast, so he can come down here and question the so-called ‘Lady Elspeth’ himself.

He needs to get out of this cell and sneak back upstairs before Gwen, so she’s none-the-wiser.

He also needs to caution Gwen against coming back down here. Who knows what other questions Morgana might ask (although, aside from her query about Emrys, he hasn’t even begun to figure out the reasoning behind her line of questioning to Gwen…it makes little sense to him).

The more he thinks on it, the more Merlin is sure that he absolutely needs to help Gaius find the spell or magic to reverse the truth curse. Then, once he’s been cured, he can come and talk to her under the guise of still being at the mercy of the curse and spin any lie he wants to put Morgana off the scent of Emrys.

Fortunately it sounds as if Gwen conversation with the ‘Lady Elspeth’ is ending. There’s a guard coming approaching.

“My Lady Guinevere,” he says deferentially. “The King didn’t disallow visitors, but he asked us to report to him if anyone did come down. I think, perhaps, it’s time to leave the prisoner to her rest.”

“Of course,” Gwen agrees. “And don’t worry; my being here is no secret from Arthur. You can report to him in good faith.”

Gwen takes a moment to reassure Elspeth that a warm blanket will be brought down, and that she’ll ensure better food is provided as well, and finally that she’ll come and visit again soon.

Lady Elspeth responds with a grateful sounding, “Thank you so very much, Gwen. I can’t tell you how much your time here has meant to me.”

Merlin almost snorts with derision. Of course she’d say that.

He waits until he hears the footsteps of both Gwen and the guard fade in the distance and then makes his furtive way back out of the cell. He knocks the guards out with a whispered sleep spell (though he ensures they’re both sitting before he does it, so they simply rest their heads on folded arms, instead of slumping to the stone floor) and then he hurries up the stairs to find Gaius and share what he’s learned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin races through the castle, looking to track Arthur down.

His first thought upon leaving the dungeons had been to find Gaius, but as he’d started down the corridor in that direction, a thought had occurred to him. He needs to suggest that Arthur send someone to Lady Elspeth’s home, to find out what really happened in the fire. He suspects that the real Lady Elspeth is dead; whether that was by Morgana’s hand or not remains to be seen, but he fears that’s the case.

After chasing to Arthur’s quarters and then the council chamber, and no Arthur to be found, Merlin stops for a breath and to calm his racing mind. The idea of Morgana in Camelot has him panicking slightly. He needs to think rationally for a moment. He considers the time of day and Arthur’s schedule and surmises that Arthur’s likely still on the practice field, so he makes his way outside.

The weather has held, and it’s still a gorgeous day. The sun is shining bright and only a few cotton-tuft clouds dot the pale blue sky. In fact, it’s perhaps a bit too nice a day; a fact that makes itself obvious when Merlin rounds the wall into the practice yards and finds Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon, not practicing, but lounging about, clearly enjoying the sunshine post-training (though there’s no sign of Arthur).

Gwaine and Percival are both sans tunics entirely, chainmail abandoned in silvery heaps along with all their other training gear. Gwaine sits atop a weapon rack, feet kicking idly, while Percival is seated cross-legged in the grass next to him. Leon – though still in his tunic - has his boots and socks kicked off and is reclined in the grass with his eyes closed, and his arms pillowed beneath his head on his folded-up gambeson. Elyan is seated with his back against the near wall in the shade, also still in his tunic, but he’s stripped down of all armor and has his sleeves rolled up. He looks to be dozing as well.

Sweaty, bare-chested, relaxed knights…just what Merlin needs when he can’t keep his honest thoughts to himself.

Unfortunately, before he can escape what promises to be an utter disaster, Gwaine spots him.

“Merlin, my friend. What can we do for you?”

“You can help me find Arthur. Have you seen him?”

Luckily that’s enough of a truth to Gwaine’s question that he can answer it simply, without giving anything away.

“Aww, you only missed him by a few minutes, Merlin.” Percival tells him. He’s got his chainmail in his lap and it appears that he’s going over it for damage.

“Oh, do you know where he went?”

“Nope,” Percival shrugs. “Any of you lads?”

Leon cracks his eyelids open to barely half-mast. “He did say something about going back to his quarters. And then a meeting with… someone.”

“Helpful lot, you are,” Merlin snorts, but it’s with affection.

Laughing, Gwaine twists his torso and shoulders from extreme left to right, stretching taut stomach muscles. Merlin swallows against a suddenly dry throat. It’s not that he’s attracted to Gwaine... but, he’d probably have to be dead not to appreciate the view.

Unfortunately Gwaine must notice something. He hops down from the wooden support and flops to the ground next to Percival, legs splays and weight back on his elbows. He’s got a long-stemmed piece of barleycorn or some kind of seeded grass in his teeth, and he looks to be chewing on the end of it. He waggles a brow at Merlin. “Like what you see?” he asks playfully.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Merlin’s in trouble now.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, absolutely,” he bursts out, as over-the-top and sarcastic as he can manage. Apparently as long as he’s speaking the truth in words, he can change-up the tone enough to get away with almost lying. It’s a bit of a relief to know he can slip things by in the guise of sarcasm. And hopefully the sun and the warmth of the day will be enough to excuse his ruddying cheeks.

Gwaine just does obnoxious things with his eyebrows again, and everyone else just laughs.

“Don’t tease the poor lad,” Percival chides, leaning over to jab Gwaine with an elbow.

“Oh, but what do we have we here?” Gwaine says suddenly, straightening up from his lazy slouch. He’s looking past Merlin.

Merlin glances over his shoulder to see Gwen approaching.

“My lady Guinevere,” Gwaine calls out (and how he can make just speaking her name sound lecherous, Merlin has no idea).

Echoes of “Lady Guinevere,” and “My lady,” sound from all the others.

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Gwaine, since when do you call me anything other than Gwen?”

Elyan – apparently not actually asleep either - chuckles. “You’re never going to get him to stop doing that, you know.”

“I know,” Gwen says, smiling.

“What can we do for you, Gwen?” Leon asks, much more wide-eyed than a moment ago, deferential to her as always.

“Oh, nothing really as I was looking for Merlin, actually.” She smiles at him, but there’s something a little bit desperate around her eyes. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” he replies immediately and then tries very hard not to scowl at her for asking a direct question like that.

“Oh, right. Well, good. Thank you.” She flashes him a brief, apologetic little grin and then looks past him to the others. “I’ll see you all later, then.”

“Aww, c’mon, Gwen. You don’t like what you see?” Gwaine shoots back with a laugh. Percival joins him.

Then Gwen squeaks out, “I do, very much in fact,” and her hands fly up to cover her mouth. Her eyes go almost comically wide, and Merlin watches the flush flood its way up from her throat to cover her cheeks and pink her ears.

“Woah.” All eyes turn to look at her – some in shock, some alarm, some a befuddled sort of delight (the former Elyan, the latter Gwaine).

“Um, well I can’t blame you, I guess,” Gwaine says, trying to laugh it off though looking a bit baffled by her vociferous reaction.

Percival, who is a bit more perceptive, asks, “Is something wrong, Gwen?”

“Yes,” she says from behind her hands.

At that Elyan and Leon both surge to their feet.

“What is it?” Leon asks. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin tries to interrupt before she can answer. “Uh, maybe I should get Gwen to Gaius.”

But even as he’s speaking, Gwen is already answering, “I have to tell you the truth.”

“What truth?” Elyan wonders.

They’re all standing now, coming closer. Merlin takes a hold of Gwen’s arm and tries to urge her to follow, but she seems too caught up in the questions. Merlin can see that she’s trying to fight it, but he knows she can’t stop herself. Her reply is an utterly exasperated (and somewhat defeated), “That I’ve been put under a spell and I can only answer questions with the truth.”

More questions come flying from each of them.

“What?”

“Is that true?”

“Who did this to you?”

“What happened?”

Apparently, being confronted with multiple questions at once confuses the spell, because Gwen stands there gaping behind the press of her fingers, unable to speak.

“Um, I think I should really get her to Gaius,” Merlin says while he’s got the chance. “C’mon, Gwen.” He tries to urge her to follow him again.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t sit well with them. Normally Merlin would appreciate their concern, but right now it’s a complication he doesn’t need. Leon comes up and halts Merlin with a hand on his arm. “No, wait. Merlin, do you know what’s going on with Gwen?”

Dammit. “Yes.” It slips out between gritted teeth.

“So it’s some kind of magic?” Percival follows-up with.

Because he didn’t specify who the question was direct too, both Gwen and Merlin respond with a chorusing, “Yes.”

“Was it when you were poisoned, Gwen? Is that what did it?”

“Yes,” Gwen nods feverishly.

Gwaine’s apparently caught on that Merlin’s affected as well because he says, “Merlin, you’re under this spell too?”

“Yes,” Merlin bites out. “Look, this is difficult enough. I’ll explain, but please stop asking us questions.”

“Merlin, I think we should—“ Elyan begins, but Merlin holds up both hands, slicing them in horizontal arcs through the air in front of him, effectively cutting him off.

“No, just wait. Please.”

They all nod.

“Okay. Whatever it was in those cakes that affected Gwen and I and made us sleep, also contained some kind of magic or potion. And now she and I are compelled to tell the truth whenever we’re asked a direct question. We cannot lie.”

“Really?” Percival asks, and though it’s more of a puzzled exclamation, it still counts as a question.

“Yes,” Merlin and Gwen respond simultaneously.

“Is it only direct questions, Merlin? Or can you lie otherwise?” That’s from Gwaine, who looks especially disturbed by what they’re saying.

“It’s only direct questions,” Merlin confirms. “We’re not compelled otherwise, when we’re speaking freely. I can tell you right now that the sky is green and that it’s raining, and nothing happens. But if you ask us anything we are. So, please, I can only beg you not to ask us any question that might…” he shrugs, pleading with his eyes as much as his voice. “Well, that might make things difficult for either of us.”

“What are you going to do—“ Gwaine starts to ask and Percival elbows him. Gwaine’s mouth shuts so abruptly Merlin worries he may have bitten his tongue.

“So,” Leon begins slowly, “we shouldn’t ask you questions, but we can talk about things…” he trails off a moment, screwing up his mouth in annoyance. “It’s really difficult to talk about this _without_ asking anything.”

“I know,” Merlin agrees. “And I’ll explain what I can as soon as possible. But I need to ask your patience. Right now, I need to get to Arthur. I think that Morgana is behind this.”

“Morgana!” Gwaine spits out.

It’s not necessarily a question – at least not in tone – though Merlin replies like it is anyway. “Yes. And I need to ask Arthur if he’ll send someone up to Lady Elspeth’s estate. I suspect that something might have happened to her.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. We’ve got Lady Elspeth in the dungeons,” Leon says.

It’s Elyan who makes the next connection. “You don’t think that’s the real Lady Elspeth in the dungeons, do you?”

Merlin scowls but it’s not a secret he wants to keep. “No, I don’t,” he agrees.

“Sorry,” Elyan mutters. “It’s really difficult not to ask anything.” He looks at his sister and gives her a sympathetic frown.

“I understand,” Merlin tells them all. “We understand,” he revises when Gwen nudges him. (She’s finally let her hands fall away from her face, but her lips are still pressed into a thin, tight line and she looks like she has no intention of saying anything for the near future. Merlin is completely fine with doing the explaining for both of them). “Just, please try to be as circumspect about this as you can manage. This is extremely difficult for both of us, and Gaius is trying to fix it. He’s going to see if he can come up with some kind of antidote. But he hasn’t yet. And, um. I think it could be difficult for both of us if we’re not careful.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Gwaine says with a mock-shudder. “I can’t imagine being forced to tell the truth when someone asked me something. God, you could ask anything.” His second shudder looks much less feigned. And then his eyes go wide and he looks from Gwen to Merlin and back again. Merlin suddenly feels a shudder of his own chase up his spine. He suspects Gwaine might have recalled the question that he asked of Gwen that exposed this hornets’ nest… the question he’d asked _both_ of them.

Before Gwaine can say anything else – or _ask_ anything – Percival claps a hand over his mouth. “And we’re not going to ask anything without thinking it through very carefully,” he says firmly, and then fixes Merlin with doleful brown eyes. “Look, Merlin, Gwen, forgive me but I do have to ask it: does Arthur know?”

Merlin shakes his head, “No, not yet.” He can’t fault Percival for needing to know. He’d have done the same were the situation reversed.

Gwen’s reply is a much more succinct, “No.”

“You really need to tell him,” Leon says, though he sounds reluctant. It’s clear his concern for his friends is warring with his duty to their king.

The others nod. “It wouldn’t do to keep this from Arthur,” Percival agrees. “I mean, especially if it’s Morgana who’s trying to use this to get information.” He opens his mouth to say something else, stops a moment to think it through and then starts again. “Merlin, I’m just going to say that I think that you and Gwen need to go and tell Arthur about this right now.”

Merlin appreciates that they’re trying to be careful in how they word things. That they understand the gravity of this, and how vulnerable he and Gwen are. Even Gwaine – who, Merlin hates to admit to himself, he’d worried might find it humorous to take advantage – is taking care. In fact, it looks like he’s still biting hard on his own tongue to keep from speaking out of turn.

“That’s actually why I wanted to find Arthur,” Merlin explains. “Because I agree, he does need to know what’s going on. I’m going to take Gwen and we’ll go find him, right now. Can you all make sure that if you see Arthur… um,” he thinks about everything the conversation with Arthur will entail, how things might get out of hand should Arthur ask the wrong questions. “Um, just keep an eye out for him. If he looks angry, can you explain what you know?”

“We’ll take care of things,” Elyan says. “Don’t worry about it Merlin. Just take my sister and go find Arthur.”

“Good luck,” Gwaine adds.

“Thank you,” Gwen says. There are still spots of color high on her cheeks, but she looks much more composed than she was a few minutes earlier. “We should go.” She doesn’t say anymore to her brother or the other knights, but she does wave.

Merlin gives them a nod and a smile. “Thank you, my friends.”

No one says anything else as Gwen tugs him along back to the castle.

When he glances back, just before rounding the keep wall, Merlin sees each of them gathering gear and shrugging on tunics. He suspects that once he and Gwen manage to find Arthur and bring him back to his room to have this discussion, the corridors around Arthur’s quarters will be suspiciously empty. He’s extremely grateful to his friends at that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stepping back into the cool, shadows of the castle halls, Gwen stops him abruptly. She looks around, and spotting no one within earshot, says, “Merlin, I’m sorry for doing this to you, but I need to know. Do you think that’s the real Lady Elspeth in the dungeon?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

Her voice cracks a bit when she asks her next question. “Do you think that’s actually Morgana in disguise?”

Hating himself a bit, Merlin is forced to admit it. “Yes, I do.”

Gwen’s mouth falls open and she lifts a hand to press her fingers over it. She makes a soft, pained sound. Her eyes start to shine in the corners. “All those things I said to her. All those questions she asked me. Merlin, I didn’t—“

“It’s okay, Gwen,” he hurries to reassure her. “You didn’t give anything away.”

Gwen frowns, eyebrows dropping inward over the bridge of her nose. “How can you know that?”

Dammit. Merlin twists his mouth in frustration but has to answer. “Because I was down there, hiding in a nearby cell, and I overheard everything.”

Gwen’s hand falls away from her mouth and she dashes at her brimming eyes. The flashes of blotchy red are back along her the points of her cheeks. “You should’ve told me that, Merlin,” she cries out. “You should’ve let me know you were planning on being there. I said… there were personal…”

“Gwen, I’m so sorry.” Merlin reaches out to touch hesitantly at her hand, which doesn’t seem to know where it wants to settle. “I really didn’t think about it. I just wanted to catch her lying. And honestly, Gwen, when I went down there, I had no idea you’d talk to her about all that. Once things started getting personal, I wanted to leave. But then it seemed like she was trying to push you into talking about your feelings and about Arthur and I got suspicious.”

“So you think she was forcing me to certain topics? Trying to get me to share specific information?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Gwen’s eyes go wide a moment. “Who is Emrys?”

Merlin gasps and feels all the blood in his body rush to his feet. She may have only meant to repeat the question that Morgana had forced upon her, but it’s still a question directed at Merlin.

He tries, so hard, not to let it out, but he can’t stop it. “Me,” Merlin says, feeling the word practically claw its way out of his mouth, and his whole body slumps in defeat after that single syllable slips past his lips.

“I don’t understand.” Gwen frowns. “What do you mean? You’re Emrys?”

He wants to plead with her not to ask any more. “Yes, I am.”

Gwen’s hands fly back up to her face again, crossing over her mouth like she’s horrified, trembling fingers pressing at her lips. “I don’t understand, Merlin.” The words are muffled into her skin, but Merlin hears them well enough.

“Look, Gwen,” Merlin says in a rush, before she can ask anything else, “we can’t talk about this here. Please.” He looks around furtively. No one has passed directly by, but Merlin’s heard footsteps twice since they stopped in this corridor. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere safe.” He takes her by the upper arm and she comes along, unresisting.

He considers their destination for only a moment.

Gwen’s chamber.

Fortunately she’s quiet as she follows him through the castle and they reach her rooms without incident. Once the door is shut behind them, Merlin stalks across the room and goes to the window. “Gwen, I know you probably want to ask me a hundred different things right now, but I’m going to ask you… no, I’m going to beg you not to ask any of them.”

“Merlin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And she does sound sincerely regretful. “I don’t want to do this to you, but—“

“You _have_ to know,” Merlin finishes for her; because he doesn’t think he could refrain either. He does understand, even if he’s angry at them both for it. He lets his head hang, looking at her from under hooded brows, but flips a hand, inviting her to continue.

“What does it mean that you’re Emrys?”

“That is what the druids call me,” Merlin explains.

Gwen shakes her head. “I don’t understand. I thought Emrys was a powerful sorcerer?” She wrings her hands a moment, puzzling it out, and then looks up at Merlin sharply. “Are you—“ She stops herself.

Even though Merlin isn’t compelled, he nods anyway. “Yes.”

“But I don’t understand how that’s possible. How could…” she shakes her head, like she can deny it and change the truth.

“That’s why I couldn’t tell Arthur about what’s going on with us, Gwen. Because I have this secret and if he were to find out…” Merlin shakes his head; he doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. “I can’t put him in that position, Gwen. I just can’t. And now you know…” Once again, he trails off helplessly.

“Merlin, I don’t even know what to say to you. Have you always—“ She swears, low and vicious, but stops herself from asking it. “There are so many things I want to ask. But I know it’s not fair and it’s not right to do that to you. You’re my dear friend and I’d never want to hurt you like that. And I know there are secrets that I have that I wouldn’t want forced out of me. But, just one thing I must know: did you always know this?”

Merlin nods. “Yes, I’ve always had magic. I was born with it.”

Gwen goes silent again. She paces across the room and sits down heavily on the edge of her bed. She smoothes out some non-existent wrinkles in the fabric of her dress over her knees. “I don’t know where this leaves us, Merlin. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

And Merlin can see that she immediately regrets asking it, but she doesn’t take back the question or try to stop him answering. He doesn’t repeat her words of moments ago – that ‘he’s her dear friend and she doesn’t want to hurt him’ – but that’s only because he’s too busy answering her. “It’s too dangerous a secret to share with too many people. I couldn’t risk you knowing, Gwen. When Uther was alive especially. If I’d have been found out he’d have had me killed, no question. And anyone else he suspected I might be colluding with.”

“But now,” Gwen says, letting it stand as a statement.

“Now, it’s not something I want to put on Arthur.” He walks from the window to stand before her. “Look, Gwen, it’s more than just my magic. Arthur and I… we sort of have a destiny. Well, Arthur’s got a destiny and it’s my job to see that he fulfills it. Which means that it’s my job to protect him as best I can. And part of protecting him means that he _can’t_ know about me. Because if he learned of it, then he might have to… well, if he were to find out, I don’t think he could keep me around, at best. At worst…” he shrugs.

“You can’t think that Arthur would ever hurt you?” Gwen insists.

“No,” Merlin replies firmly and is glad to hear that come out of his own mouth.

“But, you fear what he might have to do.”

“I do,” Merlin nods, making it a question when it wasn’t one.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. This is just so much to take in!” She lets out a wild little pealing giggle that is anything but amused, but swallows it down quickly. “Does anyone else know?”

“Gaius,” Merlin says quickly. “My mother.” He doesn’t have to add this last, but he does for Gwen’s sake. “Lancelot knew.”

Gwen’s hands make yet another trip to her face, catching her little gasp. “Lancelot knew?” It’s a whisper that slips between her fingers.

“Yes. He was one of the few people I could talk to about it. He discovered it quite by accident. I didn’t mean for him to find out but honestly the fact that he knew was such a great comfort to me.”

“Then why… No,” she shakes her head jerkily, curls bouncing with the sharply vigorous motions. “No, that’s not fair.”

Merlin knows what the question is without her even asking him. It’s a question he’s asked himself many, many times. “I tried to stop him, Gwen. I tried to stop everything that happened when he died. Gwen you must believe me. I had fully planned on stopping Arthur from sacrificing himself by doing it myself. I didn’t even know Lancelot was there, in the chamber, with us.”

He sighs, remembering that horrible day with crystal clarity. “I had told him of my plan. That I was going to save Arthur’s life and stop him from giving his own life to close the breach. That was my mistake. That is my fault, and I will forever blame myself for that. Because if I hadn’t said anything about what I was going to do, he wouldn’t have known, and he wouldn’t have followed us in there, and he wouldn’t have taken the decision away from Arthur and me both.”

Tears are streaming down Gwen’s cheeks now. They’re trickling down her cheeks and over her fingers as she all but sobs into her hands.

“There’s so much more than just Lancelot, Gwen. So much more that if I told you all of it, I don’t know if you’d ever forgive me.” It’s his turn to laugh – short and sharp and a bit hysterically. “When you were talking to Lady Elspeth, who I do suspect is just Morgana is disguise, she was asking you about Morgana; about what happened to her and why. The truth is that I know some of it, and I blame myself for what she became.”

Gwen looks over at him sharply. Her tears seem forgotten for the moment and if the ice in her eyes was a real, tangible thing, he knows those tears would be frozen, glittering lines of frost.

Despite knowing that she might never forgive him, Merlin presses on with his confession. “When Morgana was dealing with figuring out that she had magic, I never told her about me. I was scared because of Uther, and Gaius warned me not to. He thought that if she knew, she might… well, I don’t know what we thought she’d do. Run to Uther? Turn me over to protect herself. It doesn’t matter. It was cowardly and I did it to protect myself and I wish I could go back and change it. I truly never knew how much it was festering within her, or how badly it was eating her up inside. And I never truly thought Morgause would be able to twist her up like that.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen says softly.

“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me, Gwen. Not until I’ve had a chance to tell you everything. But you must know that I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about my magic. I wanted to, so many times. And I wish I had, but you were too important to me to risk. You must know that if I had been found out, if they’d even suspected that you knew...” He gives a half-hearted little shrug. “You know what Uther would’ve done.”

“It was you, that time, who saved my father when he was so sick.” She lets out a little hiccupping gasp.

Merlin nods. “And they blamed you, I know. I tried to give myself up then. I confessed everything.” He lets out another laugh that’s as much bitter as anything else. “Arthur was the one who stopped me from doing it. He didn’t believe it. But I couldn’t watch you go through that. I only wish I could’ve done more, later on, to save your father. I tried. Gaius and I tried, you must believe me.”

Gwen gives a little nod, but doesn’t say anything else.

“When Gaius has fixed this,” he says firmly, gesturing between the two of them, “I promise you I will tell you everything, Gwen. Until then, are we okay? At least for now?”

Gwen stares up at him and her eyes are red, but the tears seem to have tapered off. She gulps a swallow and gives the barest of nods before saying, “We’re okay right now, Merlin.” She says it tremulously, but at least Merlin knows it’s the truth.

Silence falls over the room and they let it pass for several minutes.

“I don’t know what to do here, Gwen,” Merlin finally says, breaking it. “I think that now that Leon and the others know, Arthur’s going to learn the truth about this curse sooner than later. We need to tell him, but how do we protect ourselves? I’ve been trying to stay away from him as much as possible since I woke up, but I’m just so afraid I’m going to let the wrong the thing slip, or he’s going to ask the right question.”

Gwen wipes at her eyes. When all that does is spread the moisture around she drags a voluminous sleeve of her gown over her cheeks and eyes (it doesn’t look to be a very absorbent material). Merlin looks around for a handkerchief. Coming up empty-handed, he starts to tug at his own neckerchief, but Gwen waves that away.

“In that drawer on the dressing table,” Gwen gestures vaguely at a small table with a mirror set on top of it. Dutifully he goes over and retrieves a handkerchief from the drawer and delivers it to her.

While Gwen is drying her eyes, Merlin begins to pace. “I just wish I knew how to tell Arthur about this without, you know, actually telling him about this.”

Gwen gives a wavery little giggle. “I know what you mean.” She blows out a breath that unsettles the loose curls that frame her face. “I just wish—“ she starts to say, but is interrupted by a rapid knocking on the door.

It cracks open almost immediately, before either of them can even ask who it is.

“Oh, there you both are.” It’s Arthur. He steps in to the room, grinning. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but Merlin…” He goes quiet, finally noticing the awkward state of things in the room; that Gwen’s been crying and that Merlin probably looks no less harried.

He peers at Gwen, eyes narrowing. Her eyes may be dry now, thanks to the hankie, but her face is still blotchy and puffy, cheeks flushed and eyes red-rimmed. “Is everything okay?” he asks in concern.

Gwen shakes her head. “No.”

“What’s going—“

“Arthur, wait,” Merlin interrupts before he can finish asking. “Listen, Gwen and I have something we need to tell you. And I… _we_ , really need you to listen to me for a few minutes. Please.”

Arthur looks between them, first in confusion and then his eyes begin to narrow and his lip starts to curl. “Merlin, if you’ve done something to—“

“No! Of course not!” Merlin protests.

Arthur’s still looking between them, like they’re some kind of puzzle he’s trying to solve. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that Arthur looks almost heartbroken.

Why would that be?

Oh… Merlin looks to Gwen and he feels his heart thud heavily in his chest. He understands suddenly, that Arthur’s mind is taking him on _completely_ the wrong path. And it shouldn’t bother Merlin that the thought of Gwen with someone else might still cause Arthur so much anguish. Should it? He’d thought Arthur was over her… and he’s not sure why the fact that he apparently isn’t is such a painful realization.

Oddly, though, it’s Merlin that Arthur’s staring at with such loss so naked on his face.

“No, no Arthur, please. It’s _nothing_ like that.” Merlin shakes his head and exhales through pursed lips out of sheer frustration. “It’s nothing like _that_ , I promise you. Let me just get through the explanation before you ask any questions, all right?”

At Merlin’s assurance, Arthur actually appears rather relieved. He exhales through his nose and then nods. “Okay.”

“Look,” Merlin begins, “the poison that knocked Gwen and me out, it wasn’t just a poison. There was also a spell on it, or some kind of potion in it. There was magic used and it’s affected both of us.”

“Affected you? How?”

Damn Arthur for not being able to follow the simplest of instructions. “We’re compelled to tell the truth when asked a direction question.”

“I’m sorry, what? You’re compelled to tell the truth?” Arthur parrots back.

Merlin and Gwen both nod, and Merlin says, “Yes.”

“When you ask us a direct question,” Gwen states, lifting her chin a bit.

“Oh,” Arthur says, looking rather nonplussed.

“Look, there’s more, Arthur.” He waits until Arthur’s gaze fixes on him again and then just lays it out. “I think that the Lady Elspeth in the dungeons is actually Morgana in disguise.”

“Morgana?” Arthur exclaims, and it’s as much a curse as it is a question.

Merlin nods. “Yes. I think that if you were to send riders to the Lady Elspeth’s estates, you’d find that she’d likely not survived the fire or was possibly killed before it even happened. If it happened at all?” He gives a quick heft of his shoulders. “But, I think that Morgana has taken her place in an effort to pass unremarked in Camelot. And she’s using this magic that’s afflicting us,” he gestures to Gwen and then himself, “to spy on Camelot and get information on you and any of your plans.”

“How do you—“

“Arthur,” Gwen says sharply. “Let Merlin finish. Please don’t interrupt with any questions. This is extremely difficult.”

Looking a bit chastened, Arthur frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Sighing, Gwen gets up from her seat on the bed and moves to stand by Merlin. “Arthur, Merlin and I are compelled by this magic, to give a truthful answer whenever we’re asked a question. _Any_ question,” she stresses. “We can’t stop it, we can’t refuse to answer, and it’s very uncomfortable as there are things that neither of us would want to answer without having a choice in the matter. Everyone has secrets, Arthur.”

Arthur scoffs. “Merlin doesn’t have any secrets.” He looks at Merlin and rolls his eyes. “What secrets do you have, Merlin?”

Merlin’s heart stops.

Pure, debilitating panic sets in, locking his whole body into inaction. He can’t even get his breath for a moment.

And that’s probably the only thing that saves him from outing himself as a sorcerer to Arthur right at that very moment, because suddenly Gwen blurts out, “He’s in love with you!”

Her hands slap over her mouth practically before the words are all the way out.

For some reason, Merlin is able to keep back his own truth. Perhaps it’s just the additional blinding shock of what Gwen just said. He starts to shake his head slowly.

Arthur looks utterly dumbfounded. He blinks slowly at Gwen and then his eyes go narrow and he frowns. “He’s not…” Arthur starts to sputter, “I mean… there’s no…” He stops himself, giving a shake of his head like he’s trying to clear it and then turns to Merlin. His expression is so very strange. “You’re in love with me?”

Merlin feels a quick little flush of relief, because he’ll be able to answer this one easily enough. “No,” he says, but what comes out of his mouth is, “Yes.”

He clamps his mouth shut so hard and fast his teeth rattle. His eyes go wide and he draws in a startled breath. He takes two steps back from Arthur. “Yes, I mean, no-ess.”

Arthur’s just staring at him, looking so utterly lost. “Merlin, I…” Arthur begins, and then he shakes his head and just blinks.

“No more questions,” Gwen says, a little desperately. “Arthur, don’t.”

But Arthur doesn’t listen. He suddenly surges forward, getting into Merlin’s face. His brows are drawn in and his upper lip curls back from his teeth like he’s furious. “You love me? You’re _in_ love with me?”

Merlin nods, helplessly. “Yes.” He says, and then squeezes his eyes shut against whatever that unnamed emotion in Arthur’s fierce gaze might be. “Yes,” he says again, feeling the word crack in his throat.

“I…” he hears Arthur begin. It’s followed by an audible swallow. This close, Arthur’s throat clicks with it, like his mouth is dry.

Suddenly, he’s gone from Merlin’s space. Merlin feels the gust of air that his abrupt movement stirs. He risks cracking an eye open, but Arthur’s not looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the floor. “I’m going to,” He thumbs a hand over his shoulder. “I need to send out that patrol. To Lady Elspeth’s keep. To confirm what you’ve told me.” The gesture becomes something random. “I’ll uh… I just.”

“Arthur,” Gwen says again, gently, like he’s some wild creature about to spook.

“No,” Arthur waves whatever she’s about to say away with a curt swipe of his arm. “I just. Look, both of you, go to Gaius. I don’t want either of you to leave his side until he’s figured this out. Is that understood?”

They both respond at the same time, Merlin’s “Yes,” echoing Gwen’s.

“Just…” He can’t seem to finish that sentence either.

Gwen tries again, taking a step toward him, but again he waves her off. “No.” He shakes his head. For the briefest moment his gaze flicks over to Merlin.

Who is still standing there with his hands twisted around each other and his eyes saucer-wide. He’s not taken a full breath since Gwen bared that truth so deep and ingrained and… painful that he wasn’t even ready to face it himself.

Abruptly Arthur turns on a heel and strides out of the room.

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen sobs breathily. She rushes over and throws her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I had to. Otherwise you would’ve…”

Merlin finally finds his voice. He flinches at the depth of sorrow in it, like he’s hearing someone else speaking. “I know, Gwen. But… I think the truth you gave him is going to be harder for him to accept than the one I feared sharing.”

Gwen draws back, looks up at him sadly; she raises her hand to touch his cheek. “You didn’t know you felt that way, did you?”

Merlin feels her fingertips spread wetness down his cheeks. He recognizes, in a distant sort of way, that it’s from tears she’s softly trailing through. “I mean, I … no. I guess?” His own truth to that question is confused. Muddled.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin. I always thought that you… Well, I always thought that you knew. I thought that you just kept it hidden. Even back when Arthur and I…” she sighs, shaking her head sadly. She cups his cheek a moment, and he’s struck by the sympathy in her eyes. When she lets her hand fall away, she steps back and says, “Come on. Let’s go to Gaius. Perhaps there’s something we can do to help him fix this.” She heads to the door.

Somewhat in a daze, Merlin trails after her.

“Fix this,” he mutters, half under his breath – his voice a little high and wild. “There’s no fixing this, Gwen.”

She doesn’t answer and just continues to lead him through the corridors and up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they get to Gaius’ chamber Merlin’s got a modicum of control back in place, though it’s the barest fingernail’s grip.

Gaius immediately knows something happened the moment they step in the room and he looks up from his worktable and sets eyes on Merlin. He lets the parchment he’s holding drift back to the table and he hurries to the doorway. “Merlin? What is it, my boy?” When Merlin doesn’t answer right away – even the force of the spell can’t seem to pull him out of his own head - Gaius looks to Gwen. “Guinevere, are you all right?”

Gwen wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know, Gaius. I think that depends on how you mean the question.”

It’s good that she can dance around that, Merlin thinks. Perhaps it means that she’s actually starting to fight off the spell, or it’s wearing away on its own.

“Oh drat,” Gaius frets. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to ask.”

“It’s okay, Gaius.” Gwen smiles at him. Then they both turn to look at Merlin.

Gaius’ question finally registers and the spell urges the answer out of him. “Um, Arthur learned one of my secrets.”

Gaius shoots an alarming glance toward Gwen, bit Merlin just shakes his head. “She already knows as well. About my magic. Arthur doesn’t. He learned something else.” He heaves a weighty sigh. “We’ve got a lot to tell you as well, Gaius.” Merlin can tell from Gaius’ rather mobile eyebrows that he’s pleased about something despite his genuine concern, and Merlin is more than happy to defer to him. He’s not quite ready to share what happened with Arthur just yet. “Why don’t you begin?”

Clearly Gaius senses that Merlin is distraught, because he doesn’t press. Instead he just puffs up with pride. “Well, I’m glad you’re both here. I was just going to send for you. I’ve figured out how this particular bit of magic works!”

Relieved to talk about anything else, especially something that will end this accursed nightmare, Merlin finally perks up.

Gaius chivvies them towards the work station he’d been at when they came in. “Well, I was looking for truth spells. Trying to understand how you were both affected by this one. But I was thinking about it in entirely the wrong way. Instead of actually thinking about the spell as something separate from the cakes, I should’ve been thinking of them as one and the same.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Gwen says.

Merlin’s not exactly following along either. Although part of it is the fact his mind is half in a different place… hearing that ‘yes’ come out of his mouth over and over again and seeing Arthur’s face blanch white and his eyes go so wide. And seeing that horrible half-step he took backing away from Merlin. And that look he shot Merlin that was so full of… well, Merlin’s not sure what it was; disgust, anger, disappointment, hatred, revulsion, fear? Anyone of those things could’ve fit itself into that expression.

He shakes his head; tries to focus as Gaius starts explaining.

“Well you see, I was looking for a spell that may have been cast on these cakes." He holds one of the little red confections up. “What I didn’t consider is that the cake is the spell itself.”

That’s puzzling enough that Merlin listens even more carefully, forcefully giving a mental shove to stove all the terrible thoughts to the back of his mind. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that it’s the combination of ingredients in the cakes themselves that make the spell. As you know, Merlin,” he begins and then looks at Gwen and his excitement falters just slightly.

“It’s okay, Gaius,” Gwen reassures him, “I’ve an understanding of cooking. It’s likely going to be similar to what you’re speaking of. Well, excepting the magic, of course.” She grins.

Gaius grins back. “That’s very good, Gwen. Yes, most potions and tonics and curatives are just combinations of specific ingredients in measured quantities, just as recipes are. Some more powerful potions may also involve incantations or the like, but essentially, the properties of the individual ingredients are what influence the efficacy of the potion. It’s just that whoever creates them must have magic to then infuse them with magic.

“So this spell was actually created not by adding a potion to some cakes, or casting a spell on the cakes. It was the mixing of all the individual ingredients of the cakes themselves and the amounts and order they were added in, and the infusion of magic as well. The _cakes_ were the potion.”

“That’s very interesting, Gaius,” Merlin agrees. “But, um, I don’t see how that gets us any closer to finding an antidote or something to counteract the magic.”

Gaius tuts at Merlin, brows dipping in disapproval. “Well, actually, Merlin, it does help us. Because at first I was looking to counteract the kind of magic or potion that could be used independently on a separate object like the cakes. But that’s not what this was, since it’s the recipe itself that’s the spell. And as that’s the case, I can just rework the recipe in reverse. That will act as the curative.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to get his eyebrows in on the action. He lifts them high, eyeing Gaius speculatively. “Really? You just bake the same cakes but in reverse?”

Gaius’ expression is absolutely straight, and he nods. “Yes. That’s it.”

Merlin waits for some kind of complication or obstacle. It’s never this easy.

“Oh, there is one more thing.”

Ah, there it is.

“I also figured out why you fell asleep for so long.”

Gwen makes a startled sound. “You mean that wasn’t part of the spell?”

“No,” Gaius shakes his head. “It turns out that it was the addition of the red sandalwood.” When Merlin and Gwen exchange a blank look, Gaius sighs. “It’s to color the cakes. They’re red.” He lifts his sample again. It’s a lovely orange-ish-red, like the color of Arthur’s best chestnut mare.

“Yes, ginger honeycakes often are,” Gwen states.

“Precisely. The ones you especially favor, in fact, Gwen.”

“Oh!” Merlin suddenly gets it. “When Morgana made these, she knew Gwen preferred the red ones, but she didn’t know that adding the sandalwood would affect the spellcraft!”

“Precisely,” Gaius repeats.

A thought suddenly comes to Merlin’s mind. It’s a rather devious one. “Gaius, as we’ll need to be baking some new honeycakes anyway, I uh, don’t suppose you can recreate them in the correct order to craft the truth spell?”

Gaius huffs, like he’s offended Merlin even asked. “Of course I can, my boy. Why would you want them though? Haven’t they caused enough trouble?”

A rather wicked grin spreads across Merlin’s face, curling into his cheeks. “Well, you see, one of my bits of news is that we don’t have Lady Elspeth captive in the dungeons; that’s actually Morgana!”

“Morgana!” Gaius sputters. (Everyone seems to be having the same reaction to that news). “How do you know?”

Though Merlin glosses over many of the details – to spare Gwen – he provides a summary of what he overheard of Gwen’s conversation with Elspeth. “So, it finally led her to asking if Gwen knew who Emrys is,” he concludes.

“Oh dear,” Gaius says, fretting once again. “It’s particularly disturbing that she’s willing to risk herself in Camelot so brazenly. Whatever she’s after must be of particular importance. We must get to the bottom of what’s she’s up to!”

Merlin arches a brow.

“Oh!” Gaius exclaims, catching on to Merlin’s plan. “Merlin that’s particularly devious.”

“What is?” Gwen asks. Merlin knows that given enough context clues, she’d figure it out herself, but he and Gaius have been communicating in their own particular sort of language of hidden truths and sparse details for so long, they know how to read each other so very well.

“Guinevere, my dear,” Gaius says in lieu of answering. “How would you like to help me with some baking?”

She smiles brightly. “I’d love to, Gaius.”

Merlin leaves them to it - too many cooks spoiling the broth and all – and goes to his room for some quiet. He tells Gaius he needs to think on his strategy as far as Morgana is concerned, but in truth he desperately needs some time alone to consider what he’s going to do about Arthur.

He’s… in love with Arthur.

Even in the relative quiet and privacy of his own room, and not even aloud, it feels so strange to make that admission. How did he never quite realize?

He knows there’s always been a physical attraction. Merlin is only human after all, and Arthur’s looks and physical prowess are remarked upon far and wide. But Merlin also finds lots of other people attractive, even Gwaine for goodness sake, but he supposes he’s not really felt it as anything more than just that very base appreciation except in a very few cases. Will, Freya… perhaps even Lancelot just a bit, just at first.

With Arthur though, if he’s honest with himself, it’s always been there. Even when Arthur drove him absolutely mad, and was an arrogant prat, and treated him terribly…

It occurs to Merlin then, that one of the reasons he’s been so oblivious of his own feelings might be because they’re obfuscated by the _other_ connection that he and Arthur share: Arthur’s destiny. How convenient it must’ve been to bury anything more meaningful under the guise of Kilgharrah’s ‘same coin’ prophesizing. Far too easy to subsume anything real, anything remotely approaching the depth of the love he now recognizes, in his reluctant acceptance of their shared fate.

“Oh god,” Merlin utters softly, “I love Arthur. I’m _in love_ with Arthur. I’m absolutely mad for Arthur…”

Merlin flops back on his bed, feeling a bit dramatic, but under the circumstances he thinks he’s allowed a bit of melodrama. Besides, there’s no one on hand to witness it. So he throws an arm across his forehead and sighs gustily.

Now what?

Bad enough he’s coming to terms with this himself, but he’s also got to worry about how Arthur’s going to react. This could be as bad as Arthur learning the truth about his magic! What if Arthur decides he’s disgusted that Merlin could feel that kind of affection for him. Not just as a friend… but as a lover, as everything.

What if Arthur dismisses him from his service? What if Arthur banishes him?

Suddenly Merlin’s bout of histrionics doesn’t feel all that over-the-top.

And even if Arthur… accepts it. (There’s absolutely no scenario in Merlin’s head where Arthur goes any further than reluctant acknowledgement… it’s just not even possible). How is Merlin ever going to look him in the eye again? So many things are going to be different. Will Arthur treat him coldly? Will he become violent when Merlin tries to help him dress or bathe?

It would be the most ridiculous conundrum to be facing, if it weren’t also nearly the worst thing he could imagine (second only to Arthur learning about his magic). He feels as if he’s standing on a precipice and that one word from Arthur will either draw him to safety or send him plummeting to the jagged stones below.

He’s not sure how much time has passed while he’s been dealing with his emotional crisis, but when Gwen knocks on his door rather softly and says through it, “We’re ready, Merlin,” he knows it’s been a good stretch. Long enough to allow for the procurement of ingredients, and mixing and then baking.

“I’ll be right out, Gwen,” he calls out to her.

Scrubbing his hands over his face and then through his hair, Merlin forces himself up off of his bed. He splashes his face in the basin. The water that he pours from the ewer is still cool, and it jolts him fully back to awareness. He wipes himself down, changes into a new tunic and kerchief and then goes out to rejoin Gwen and Gaius.

“All done then?” he asks, ignoring the sad looks he’s being subjected to (from both of them no-less).

“Yes,” Gaius nods. He holds out a tray of little ginger honeycakes. Plainly colored this time. Though each has still been meticulously topped with a fresh violet. He assumes that the flowers were tied to the spell in some way or another.

“These are the antidote, I assume?” Merlin asks, picking one off the tray.

Gaius nods again.

Gwen takes her own cake. She lifts it in the air like she’s toasting him and then takes a bite. Merlin pops the whole of his into his mouth, just as he did with the original. Like the one that caused all their problems, this one is quite tasty; though it’s missing the slight tang that the first one had – he suspects that might’ve been from the sandalwood.

“How long will it need to take effect?” he asks, swallowing down the last sticky mouthful.

“You tell me, Merlin,” Gaius replies. “Do you feel the urge to tell me the truth?”

Merlin thinks about it and shakes his head. “Not particularly. I mean, I probably could if I…” he trails off, realizing his idiocy. “Ask me again, Gaius.”

It really doesn’t test anything if he doesn’t actually lie!

Gaius catches his gaze and holds it. “Do you have magic?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I do not.” And the words he intends and the words that actually come out of his mouth are one and the same. He turns to Gwen. “Gwen, did you think Gwaine looked appealing without his tunic, out on the practice field earlier?”

Gwen’s head shake is as firm as his. “Absolutely not!” she answers quite demonstratively.

They share a grin. “We’re cured!” Gwen exults. She lunges forward to throw her arms around Merlin. He hugs her back just as tight.

He knows things things are irrevocably changed between them, but he’s confident that they can work past it.

Gwen must feel the same way because when she pulls back from their embrace she touches his cheek again. “We’ll get there, Merlin. Never fear.”

Merlin lifts a hand to cover hers for a moment. “I’m not worried, Gwen.”

Gaius noisily clears his throat and Merlin gives Gwen’s fingers a last, quick squeeze and then he turns away. “Yes?”

There’s another tray of some kind of baked good held on Gaius outstretched hand. Merlin hovers a hand over one, but doesn’t touch. “Are these?”

Gaius nods.

“We thought it would be better to use the same recipe but a different shape. So they won’t be as recognizable.” Gwen explains.

“That’s brilliant, Gwen, thank you.”

“Here,” she adds, handing over a small wrapped bundle. “There’s two cakes in there, ready to go. You shouldn’t need more than that.”

He takes the package and smiles at Gwen and then Gaius.

“Well, I guess I’m off to the dungeons then!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, Merlin, hello!”

Merlin steps further towards the cell, following on the heels of one of the guards. “Hello, Lady Elspeth. Gwen sends her apologies. She’s tied up in court business and couldn't make it down here to bring you your meal. So I offered to do it for her.” He brandishes the tray he’s carrying with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Elspeth says, smiling like she’s genuinely pleased to see him (and maybe she is?). “That’s very kind of you.”

Merlin waits while the guard unlocks the door and he lets the man pass the tray through. Once the door is relocked, Merlin indicates that the guard can return to his post with a nod of his head.

“Yes, I wanted to make sure you’re being treated well. Did you get the blanket that Lady Guinevere asked for?” He looks into the dim recesses of the small stone-walled room. He spies not only a thicker quilt, but a fluffy pillow as well.

“Oh, yes I did.” She sits down on the bench and starts to pick at the food. “It was very generous of Gwen to have it sent down. You’re both too kind.” She glances up at him briefly, holding a braised carrot to her mouth, and blushes prettily. “Well, especially as you were also affected by the terrible thing that happened to Gwen.”

Merlin shrugs. “Yes, well. I think we all know that had nothing to do with you, Lady Elspeth.”

Letting the carrot fall back to the tray, Elspeth looks up at him again and tilts her head curiously. “You don’t think so?”

“No,” he says. “And I think Arthur’s almost convinced of that as well. So hopefully you won’t have to spend too much more time down here.”

Picking up the carrot again, pinching it daintily between two fingers, she asks nonchalantly, “Do you have ideas who might actually be responsible?” She takes a bite and crunches the vegetable like she’s tasting nothing of what she’s eating.

Merlin shakes his head. “Not exactly, but we’re still looking into the baker. Seems he had an assistant who went missing a few days earlier. So that definitely seems suspicious. Arthur’s got men looking for him now.”

“Really?” Elspeth seems quite surprised by that.

“We don’t know if it will come to anything, but it’s a start. After all,” he goes on with a soft laugh, “it’s not as if you have any reason to want to harm Gwen or myself. So there’s really no reason to hold you here.”

She titters out a weak chuckle. “Well, I hope you’re right, Merlin.”

“Oh, go on,” he waves at the tray. “I’m keeping you from your dinner. You go ahead and eat. I nicked some stuff from the kitchen directly.” He flashes a grin. “Audrey the cook has it in for me! But I’ve been stuck where you are a time or two and I remember how the meals were.” He mock-grimaces. “Plain, few and far between.”

“It’s funny,” Elspeth says, even as she picks up a piece of cheese, “the lady Guinevere said much the same thing. That she’d also spent time in these dungeons.”

Merlin lets out a wry snort. “Well, that was all back in Uther’s day. Things were a little less, shall we say, tolerant? They were all misunderstandings, of course. Gwen and I didn’t spend any more time in these cells than we had to. Arthur saw to that. But, still. We share the experience though.” He scratches at his chin. “Actually, my very second day in Camelot I ended up in the dungeons.”

“Oh, really? You’ll have to tell me about that.”

“Of course,” Merlin nods. “Just don’t let me keep you from your meal.” While Elspeth finishes her food, Merlin spins the story of his very first encounter with Arthur and subsequent time in gaol. Elspeth seems to find it quite amusing.

He concludes the story with a rather dramatic, “And thus ends the tale of my first imprisonment in Camelot’s very welcoming dungeons.”

Lady Elspeth is holding a dainty little cake delicately in her fingers. She titters again, salutes him with it and then takes a bite. She chews and swallows and then smiles. “Oh, this is lovely.”

“Say what I will about our cook,” Merlin grins, “but she does make the very best honeyed gingercakes.”

“Gingercakes?” Elspeth’s voice goes up a note or two at that. “Is that what this is?”

Merlin nods. “Oh yes. They’re quite a treat too. She doesn’t make them that often.”

“Oh, well, they’re delicious.” Elspeth agrees, but Merlin notices that she sets the uneaten half of the cake back on the tray. “I wish I wasn’t so full now.” She places the tray down on the floor. “Thank you for that, Merlin. It was a very nice meal. And thank you for the company as well.”

“It was my pleasure,” Merlin tells her, and there’s genuine sincerity in his voice. He steps a half-turn, readying to leave, and then spins back to face the cell again. “Oh, um, before I go, there’s one thing I wanted to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“I understand you asked Gwen something rather strange when she was here to visit you earlier. If she knew someone, I believe.”

“Oh, that, yes,” Elspeth begins. “Well you see—“

Merlin holds up a hand, interrupting her. “What was the question you asked her?”

She repeats it word for word: “Who is Emrys?”

Her eyes go wide, and much like Gwen, a hands rises to cover the ‘o’ of her mouth. She looks down in horror at the tray, and the half eaten cake.

Merlin shrugs. “Sorry,” he says, not meaning it at all. “It was the only way, you see.” He cocks his head, watching her closely as she looks slowly up at him. Behind the horror in her eyes, he can see something else. Something darker. “Are you really the Lady Elspeth?” he asks.

She shakes her head and spits out a reluctant, “No.”

“Who are you then?” Merlin’s quite positive he already knows the answer to this.

He can see her fighting the answer. She’s got her hand clamped tight over her mouth, teeth pressing into her lip. Still, the words come out, muffled through skin and flesh and bone. “Morgana Pendragon.”

“Is the real Lady Elspeth dead?”

Morgana nods again. “Yes.”

Just to be give her the benefit of the doubt he asks, “Did you kill her?”

“Yes, but—“

Merlin tries to stop her, but she pushes on, spitting out the words, “She was dying. There _was_ a fire and she got caught in it. When I found her, she’d been so badly burned she was near death.”

“But you took her form? How?” Merlin asks.

“A spell of the Old Religion,” Morgana tells him. “It’s funny you mentioned your first day in Camelot to me. I got the idea for such a disguise from Mary Collins, the witch who impersonated Lady Helen and tried to kill Arthur.” She flips a hand toward Merlin. “Landing you your role as Arthur’s manservant. At any rate, she fit seamlessly into her role here, and had she not given herself away by trying to kill Arthur, who knows how long she could’ve pulled it off.”

“Is it the same kind of magic that Mary used?”

“Not quite. This one requires that I keep a piece of Lady Elspeth’s body on my person at all times to maintain the transformation. It’s more sophisticated than a regular glamour.” She draws a cord from around her neck, pulling it free from the neckline of her gown. There’s a small leather pouch hanging off the cord, the top sewn together with thick stiches of white thread. “There’s a piece of her pinky finger in here.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s gone quite rank at this point.”

Something strikes a chord in Merlin’s memory. “The perfume?”

Morgana nods. “Yes, I needed to either not get too close, or cover the smell up somehow.”

“So is that why you’re here in Camelot?” Merlin asks. “To find out who Emrys is?”

Morgana shakes her head reluctantly. “No,” she admits, once again gritting her teeth.

Merlin frowns. That’s not what he expected to hear at all. “But, you asked Gwen.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, but Morgana answers him regardless. “Because it was an opportunity to ask once I’d learned she’d been affected by the truth spell.”

Though he’s got other questions, her bringing up the spell prompts him to ask, “Was the falling asleep meant to be part of it?”

“No,” she scowls. “That was an unintended side effect. I’m still not entirely sure what happened there.”

This one, Merlin knows the answer to. He decides to give it over, just to see her aggravation. He chuckles. “Maybe you should leave the baking to the bakers. It was the sandalwood. That added the sleeping side-effect.”

“Oh, of course.” Morgana rolls her head in a wide arc. “Well, baking was never my strong suit.” It’s eerie how much of Morgana he can see on a relative strangers face.

“Why Gwen?” Merlin has to ask. “Why did you target Gwen with a truth spell?”

“Gwen wasn’t the target,” Morgana corrects him sharply. “Gwen was a test.”

Merlin twists up his face in confusion. “Gwen was a test? What does that mean?”

“I needed to see if the cakes would work as a way to administer a truth spell.”

“So you picked Gwen?”

Morgana snorts. “Yes, I think we’ve established that.”

“So what were you planning on doing if it worked on Gwen?” This whole conversation is leaving him feeling off-kilter. None of her actions or motivations fit with any of the things he’d expected.

“Giving it to the people I wanted to get the truth from.”

It’s fairly clear Morgana’s quite good at edging her way around the limitations of the compulsion to answer truthfully. So Merlin goes back to one of the key question in this whole interrogation. “What are you doing here in Camelot, Morgana?”

“Looking for information,” she says, lifting her chin imperiously.

“What kind of information?” Merlin presses. He has another sudden recollection: Gaius and others had spoken of Lady Elspeth spending a substantial amount of time in the library with Geoffrey.

Morgana’s mouth twists reluctantly, but finally she has to let it out. “I’m looking for information on the Great Dragon.”

“Great Dragon?” Merlin repeats, “Why?”

He can see her fighting this one very hard. Her teeth look like they’re about to go through her lip – pressing hard enough that blood begins to well up - and her nails are practically clawing through the layers of her gown into her own thighs.

“Why are you looking for information on the Great Dragon, Morgana?” Merlin repeats firmly.

She spits the answer out in a harried breath. “Because I need to find out how to save a dragon.” The glare she fixes on him is pure spite.

Merlin shakes his head. “You need to save a dragon? I don’t understand. What dragon?”

“She doesn’t have a name. She’s just… my friend.”

A sinking suspicion comes over Merlin. “Is she a white dragon?”

Morgana’s eyes go so wide that white shows all the way around the green of her irises. She surges forward urgently. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Aithusa,” he sighs out, forgetting himself entirely for a moment. He nearly curses a second later when he realizes what he’s let slip.

“Aithusa?” Morgana echoes him. “Is that her name? How do you know of her?”

Merlin shakes his head stubbornly. “I’ve just heard rumor. What information do you need to save this dragon?”

“She’d been captured, by a very evil man. He was called the Sarrum of Amata.”

Merlin’s heard the name; rumors mostly, and none of them pleasant. “How did he capture her?”

Morgana throws her arms up in frustration. “I don’t know, Merlin. But I do know he did it to lure me to him, to try to capture me as well. I just need to save her. He had her for months. Months! She was trapped in a deep pit that was cramped and too small for her to spread her wings or even stand properly, and they keep it covered so she couldn’t fly or climb out.”

“Even with your magic you can’t get close?” He’s having trouble understand why Morgana of all people, can’t rescue Aithusa.

Morgana shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand. It’s not that she’s still trapped. I got her out.” There’s a whole paragraph in that one sentence – it speaks of people having met a gruesome end, and now he realizes she’d referred to the Sarrum in the past tense. “The trouble is that she’s sickly. There’s something wrong with her and I don’t know how to save her. She grows weaker every day. I’m afraid she’s going to die if I can’t find some way to help her.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, a little bit dumbfounded. Because that’s something new entirely. Something he hadn’t expected at all. For the first time that Merlin can remember – at least since that time in the throne room when he held a dying Morgana, poisoned by his own hand, in his arms – she’s showing genuine emotion for something other than herself. “You have affection for this dragon?”

Again, Morgana’s chin goes high and haughty. “I do.”

Merlin begins slowly, feeling his way through the next bit of this conversation. “What if I told you that we could save her? What would that mean to you?”

“Everything,” she blurts out, and then turns her head away with a wince. “And how could you save her?” she practically spits into the wall of the cell, still unable to meet his eye. “What do you know of dragons, Merlin?”

“Oh, I’ve done a little bit of reading,” Merlin says, light and wry.

Morgana jerks her head back, frowning at him. “You can’t keep me down here,” she says. “I have magic, Merlin. I can get out of this cell any time I want to.”

“I’m sure you can,” he agrees. “But you don’t have the information you need, and you’re right. This is probably the only place in the whole of Albion that you’ll be able to find it. Uther had a plethora of information on dragons and Dragonlords. And the Great Dragon was here for a very long time.”

She hangs her head. “I know. I’d hoped there was something.” Even wearing Elspeth’s face, Merlin can see a new – or rather old and familiar – aspect to Morgana: innocence and vulnerability. The way she used to look before magic played havoc in both their lives. He thinks about Aithusa, trapped for months, now crippled and suffering, and feels a stab of guilt. He wants to help. He is the last Dragonlord; it’s his duty to help.

Deciding, he makes an offer: “If you give me your word that you won’t try to flee this dungeon, I could see to it that something is done to save your dragon.”

He sees hope flicker briefly in her eyes, but it’s gone in a flash like a candle flame being snuffed out. “There’s nothing _you_ can do, Merlin. If I haven’t been able to figure it out, then there’s no one left to solve it. The last of the Dragonlords is dead. There’s no one left who can talk to Aithusa. There’s no magic in the Old Religion to make that happen.” She’s despondent.

Merlin lifts one shoulder. “What would this dragon’s life be worth to you?”

“Everything,” she whispers. “Anything.”

“Would you give up your revenge on Arthur? On Camelot?”

She lets out the, “Yes,” only somewhat reluctantly.

“And what of trying to find this Emrys. Would you stop that as well?”

This time the hesitation lasts longer. “I… don’t know. He’s meant to be my doom.”

“For Aithusa’s life?”

Morgana swallows. She squeezes her eyes shut. This, “Yes,” is so soft that Merlin has to strain to hear it.

It’s… more than he expected. But can he really believe her? Truth spell or no, she’s a mastermind at deception. And what’s to say she wouldn’t go against her word the moment Aithusa was well again?

“If the exchange for Aithusa’s life was a promise to never harm Camelot or its people or Arthur, or Gwen or any of us. If it was a promise to give up your claim on the throne? If it was a promise to stop hunting Emrys? Would you keep those promises if those were the stakes?” he asks, pushing urgently. “Would you swear an oath to it? And oath of the Old Religion?”

“Yes,” she bites out, again flushing and turning away. Like she can’t bear to show such compassion in front of him.

And it’s the truth.

Merlin rocks back, flummoxed.

Morgana surges to her feet and curses at him. “Damn you, Merlin. How dare you taunt me with this! I should strike you down where you stand! I should… I…” Her words are wild, spittle flying from her mouth, but her eyes aren’t glowing gold. They’re wide and desperate. He can see that there’s hope buried deep beneath the fear.

Cursing himself as every kind of fool, Merlin steps towards the cell, and wraps his hands around the bars. “S'enthend' apokhorein nun epello-o-o!” The words rumble through his chest, vibrating the cell door with their power.

Morgana stumbles back, falling against the far wall of stone, wild-eyed and scared. “What… what was that? I… felt that…”

“That was warning in the language of dragons,” Merlin tells her, drawing himself up to his full height; standing proud with the memory of his father at his shoulder.

“H… how?”

“I am the last Dragonlord, Morgana. My father was the last before me and when he died, those powers were passed on to me.” His smile has nothing friendly in it. “I was the one who rescued Aithusa’s egg from a crumbling keep and the greed of a desperate thief. And I’m the one who called her into this world and brought her forth from her shell. I’m the one who gave Aithusa her name.”

Morgana is still staring at him like he’s some kind of apparition. “You cannot be.” She shakes her head. “You’re just… Merlin.”

“I am much more than that.” Merlin smiles grimly, recalling the last time he spoke those words. “And if you swear here and now, those promises you said you’d make, taking an oath of the old religion to bind you to them, I will call the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, and together we will heal Aithusa.”

Morgana slowly approaches the bars.

Merlin holds up a cautioning hand. “Don’t try anything deceitful. A Dragonlord’s magic is not something that can be stolen or used without his volition.” He sets the hand back on the bars and waits while Morgana continues to approach cautiously. She looks to be fighting the choice; he can see her mouth moving, but no sound issues out of it. He doesn’t think it’s a spell though; he senses no magic.

She stops opposite him, face just a few inches from his own. “You’re willing to accept my oath?” she asks.

Merlin nods. “I am. Do you know the magic that will bind you to it?”

Morgana inclines her head.

“Very well. What do we need to do?”

“Give me your hand,” Morgana instructs. Merlin only hesitates a moment before reaching into the cell. Morgana’s cold fingers curl around his and her grip slides into his until they’re clasping wrists. “I will speak the words of the spell,” she explains next. “When I’m done, you will speak the words of the bargain you wish to strike.” She smirks, mouth shifting sideward. “Use precise language, else I may be able to weasel out of it on a technicality.” This close he can tell that the cocky bravado is all an act. Her fingers are trembling around his wrist.

Merlin nods. “All right. I’m ready.”

“One last thing,” she adds. “There will be a blood exchange. The magic will force it. It may sting but don’t let go of my hand until you no longer see the lights.”

Merlin has no idea what that means but he nods again.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

Morgana slowly recites an incantation. Merlin recognizes only some of the words and phrases. It seems like a jumble of every magical language he’s ever encountered. The recitation goes on for several minutes, Morgana speaking in a sing-song voice that echoes eerily around them. Finally, she spits out a few last, guttural sounds and her eyes snap open and they’re awash with liquid gold.

Merlin begins to speak. Finding the words suddenly comes easy, like they’re part of some magic within him. “In exchange for saving the life of the dragon called Aithusa, Morgana Pendragon swears on her very life to never bring harm to Camelot or its lands, or its crops or its homes or its castle or its people, especially Arthur Pendragon, or Merlin, or Gwen or Gaius, or any knight or those of us who used to call her friend. Even if we should not be in Camelot lands, these promises will hold.

“Morgana Pendragon must also swear on her very life to give up any claim she might have on the throne of Camelot. Morgana Pendragon must also swear on her very life to turn away from dark magic, and to try to find the goodness that remains in her heart.” Morgana lets out a little hiss at that, but doesn’t pull away from their compact. “And finally, Morgana Pendragon must swear on her life that she’ll stop looking for the sorcerer called Emrys. And even if she were to discover Emrys’ true identity, she will not bring him any harm.

“Morgana Pendragon, do you agree to this bargain, and offer your life as forfeit if you should break any of these covenants?”

“I Morgana Pendragon, do so agree.”

Merlin suddenly understands what she meant by waiting for the light to finish. The gold coruscating around her eyes suddenly seems to flow over their hands. It’s a sensation of warmth and an odd purity. He feels the pinch against both his palm and his wrist – assumes it’s the ‘bloodsharing’ and just watches and waits while the golden light dissipates or is absorbed into their skin.

When everything is thrown into darkness again, no sign of the shimmering light remaining, Morgana finally pulls her hand away from his. “It’s done.”

Merlin nods. “You’ll stay here until I bring word of Aithusa?”

“That wasn’t part of our bargain,” Morgana replies with a simpering smile.

“Morgana…”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“Good. I’ll try to leave tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. Tell me where we can find Aithusa?”

Morgana describes a cave in the Darkling Woods. Merlin has no doubts he’ll be able to find it.

“Merlin,” she says, and she sounds cautioning. “If you don’t save her, our bargain ceases to exist.”

“I know.”

“Good. Just as long as we understand each other.”

He shakes his head then starts to walk away. Some imp of the perverse stops him before he gets too far down the aisle. He turns back to look at her. “Morgana, there’s one more thing.”

She blows out a weary, aggravated breath. “What’s that, Merlin?”

He flashes the cockiest grin he can. “I’m Emrys.” He lets his eyes flash gold a moment. And before she can respond, he turns and marches out of the dungeons.

“Merlin!” Her shout reverberates through the empty cells and into the corridor behind him. To his surprise, it’s followed by a wild, high-pitched laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grinning at his own – likely foolhardy – hubris, Merlin turns the corner where the guards have been asleep since just after he arrived (he’d knocked them out while he was miming his exit, before he called the ‘Lady Elspeth’ out on her true identity). His eyes spot them first – they’re slumped over the table as he expected – but when he turns toward the stairs there’s a cloaked figure standing in front of him.

He startles, stumbling back.

The figure pulls at the hood of the cloak and it falls away, revealing…

Arthur!

For the second time that day panic floods through him; fear like nothing he’s ever known.

“Ar... Arthur,” he stutters. “Uh, what are you… why…uh…” He can’t even manage a sentence, letting his noises fade to heavy silence.

How much did Arthur hear? What does Arthur know?

All the earlier fear about his being in love with Arthur pales in comparison to this. Loving Arthur? What a _silly_ thing to worry about…

Before he can try to say anything else, Arthur rushes him. He wraps a hand in Merlin’s neck scarf, like he’s a cat and it’s the scruff of his neck. He uses a stiff forearm to drive Merlin forward. “March,” he instructs sharply in a voice that brooks no argument.

Merlin marches. He’s walked up the stairs from the dungeon, through the halls of the castle, past startled guards and servants and nobles alike, through to the living quarters and right into Arthur’s chamber.

When they get inside Arthur propels him forward and releases his grip. Merlin all but stumbles, and would likely have dropped to his knees on the hard stone floor if the bed hadn’t gotten in his way. He catches himself on it, and rights himself slowly.

Since they left dungeon, Arthur hasn’t said a word.

Merlin roughly straightens out his tunic and scarf, rubbing at the line on his throat where the fabric pulled taut. He swallows and allows himself a few deep breaths (mostly to stave off a panic that’s reaching swooning intensity), and then turns to face Arthur.

Arthur is still standing by the door, though it’s shut and his back is to it. He’s watching Merlin with such a fierce intensity it makes Merlin squirm.

The oppressive silence hangs heavy over them for many long minutes. Arthur just continues to stare – steely-eyed and unblinking – while Merlin gulps and swallows and tries to breath.

Finally, after what seems like an age, Arthur cants his head, eyeing Merlin quite strangely, and says, “Quite the day for revelations, hasn’t it been, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin hates that he can’t put a name to that odd tone and the oppressive sort of way Arthur says his name. He gulps noisily again and manages the barest nod.

“I went to find you and Gwen,” Arthur begins speaking, this time in a different almost relaxed way, seemingly apropos of nothing. His casual tone is belied by narrowed eyes and the way his hand is wrapped around the hilt of his sword, fingers so tight that the tendons are popping out like the skeletal branches of a winter tree. “Since I _ordered_ you there, I _expected_ to find you with Gaius. Imagine my surprise when you’re not there, Merlin.”

“Uh yeah, I uh, sorry about—“

“Shut up, Merlin!” Arthur barks out.

Merlin shudders and flinches back from that awful anger.

“Naturally,” Arthur goes on, as if Merlin hadn’t spoken, “Gaius tried to spin me some story about herbs he needed for the cure for you and Gwen.” He smiles, just slightly. A tiny there-and-gone little thing that looks as friendly as a wolf’s growl. “So, naturally I was quite surprised when I questioned Gwen about something and she managed to _lie_ to me. She’s a terrible liar, you see.” He gestures to the area around his face. “She tugs at her hair. So, naturally, it became apparent that if she was lying, then Gaius was also lying. Not only about having finished the cure, but also about your whereabouts.”

Arthur smiles again, thin-lipped and unpleasant. “He did not lie to me a third time.”

Gaius? Arthur would never…

Before he can finish the thought Arthur takes a step forward. Merlin knows better than to step back (as much as every instinct is screaming at him to do so).

“So, I head down to _my_ dungeons, expecting to find _my_ guards awake, and _my_ manservant talking to _my_ prisoner.” He puts such a proprietary emphasis on every ‘my’ that Merlin jerks uncontrollably with each one. “Instead, I find _my_ guards asleep on the job. And when I quietly make _my_ way down the corridor I get to overhear _my_ manservant having a lively discussion with _my_ prisoner!” He laughs, eerily high and so very false.

“Tell me, _Mer_ lin. What do you think my favorite part of that conversation was?”

“Uh…” Merlin scrambles to find an answer.

Of course, Arthur doesn’t let him give one.

“Do you think it was hearing my manservant bantering with the woman who has nearly destroyed me and my kingdom and everything I hold dear, on more than one occasion? No?” He shakes his head, like he’s dismissing it with ease. “How about the discussion that followed about dragons? Do you think that was an interesting thing for me to hear, that the Great Dragon that nearly burned Camelot to the ground is alive and well?” Again, he shakes his head like a dog shedding water from its coat. “Not that one either? Oh!” he says with sudden (and clearly false) exuberance. “What about the point where my manservant admitted to being a _Dragonlord_ , and made a magical bargain with my prisoner to save the life of yet another dragon? And, and, lest we forget, ended all of that with a quip about being this mythical figure the druids are always on about and that _my_ prisoner has wanted to kill for years.”

Arthur scratches thoughtfully at his chin. “Hmmm, I think I’m going to have to call that final option my favorite. What do you think? What would you pick?”

Merlin doesn’t answer. He drops his chin to his chest and studies the toes of his boots.

“Answer me,” Arthur says suddenly, the anger rushing out of him in a wave of physical force.

Merlin feels something grip his collar, and before he can fathom out that it’s Arthur’s fist, he finds himself shoved hard against the wall beside the door. Arthur’s fingers dig into his chin and jaw, forcing his head up. “Answer me,” he snaps out again, but this time Merlin can see the plea behind his eyes.

“All of it,” Merlin croaks out. Once again Arthur’s got the collar of his tunic and his neck scarf twisted in the grip of a fist, and it’s cutting tightly into his neck.

The fist relaxes a fraction, and Merlin gasps in a breath. “All of it,” he repeats, much less hoarse.

“Why?” Arthur pleads. “Tell me why!”

But Merlin can’t answer that. He closes his eyes, and make the only confession he feels will make any difference. “Arthur, I love you.”

Arthur makes an anguished noise, and the hands come away from Merlin’s jaw and tunic in an instant.

“You’re such a bastard,” he hears Arthur say in a low whisper.

Merlin opens his eyes then, surprised to find that Arthur is all the way across the room. He’s staring at Merlin with naked heartache now.

“ _That’s_ the conversation I’d come back expecting to talk about. _That’s_ the one I was finally ready to face, after years of denying myself.” He covers his face with both hands for a moment, making another terrible, aggravated noise into them. When they come away he flings them to the side. “But now you’re a Dragonlord, Merlin. And a sorcerer. And Morgana is in my dungeon and you’ve made a bargain with her that’s supposedly going to end all of this enmity between us?”

He backs slowly toward the bed, letting himself slump down heavily when it hits the backs of his thighs. “What am I to do with this knowledge, Merlin?” He shakes his head. “Though now I understand what secret you _really_ didn’t want to share.” He snorts, bitterly.

“But… I was telling the truth.”

“Which time?” Arthur shoots back, venomous words sharp as any bolt from a crossbow and no less deadly. “It seems that all that’s built between stands on a foundation of lies.”

The words cut deeper than Merlin imagines any forged weapon ever could. “I… couldn’t tell you, Arthur. You have to understand that.” How can Merlin explain any of it if Arthur won’t even try to listen? “Yes, I kept my magic a secret from you and almost everyone. But only so I could stay in Camelot, here with you.” He juts out his chin defiantly. “And I didn’t lie to you about the most important thing of all, Arthur.”

“Oh? Which secret is that then?”

“About being in love with you, you prat! I didn’t… I _couldn’t_ lie when you asked me that.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Merlin fights the urge to bang his head back against the door repeatedly. “You don’t understand what it was like, Arthur.”

“Maybe I don’t. Apparently there’s quite a lot that I don’t understand.” He says that quite bitterly.

Merlin frowns and he narrows his eyes. How can he convince Arthur…?

The perfect idea springs to mind.

Except he’ll need to leave the room for a few minutes.

Will Arthur allow that? Will he shut Merlin out of his room (his _life_ ) if Merlin leaves right now? Will asking if he can go make things worse? He decides he _has_ to risk it. “Arthur, I need to go back to my room for just a minute. Can I uh… do that?”

Arthur just shrugs listlessly. “Why ask me?”

Merlin feels his own anger building. He crosses the empty space between them and stands before Arthur. With Arthur sitting and Merlin standing, he’s got to look down to see Arthur’s eyes… although that’s only if Arthur cooperates. Not that he doesn’t find Arthur’s forehead appealing, but he wants to look Arthur in the eye.

He takes another gamble and touches Arthur on the check. When Arthur doesn’t react (he’d hoped for something… but he supposes he should be glad that his touch didn’t result in a shudder of revulsion or a flinch) Merlin lets his thumb slide down over the corner of Arthur’s mouth and come to rest under the point of his chin. He gently lifts Arthur’s head.

Arthur's got his eyes squeezed shut.

“Please, look at me,” Merlin implores.

With a grunt and a little shake of his head Arthur opens his eyes. They’re so grey and weary, and Merlin hates being responsible for sapping the life out of them. But they’re still beautiful, and eyes that Merlin wants to look into forever. Maybe someday he’ll be able to tell Arthur that?

For now he just says, “Arthur, I’m coming back. There are a dozen different conversations we need to have. About Morgana, about my magic, about everything that I’ve been too afraid to tell you all these years. But, the one thing I _need_ you to know without any doubt, is how I feel. And, I will be back here in just a few minutes, all right?”

Arthur gives the barest of nods, just enough that Merlin feels the movement in the hand curved around Arthur’s face.

Since he’s already taken plenty of risks – and all of Arthur’s fiery anger seems to be banked by this smothering self-doubt (at least right now) – he takes another. He presses his lips to Arthur’s forehead.

A gust of breath – a sigh? a gasp? – is exhaled against his throat. “I’ll be right back,” he says again, trying to leave no room for doubt, before stepping away from Arthur.

He hurries from the room, not allowing himself to look back – lest Arthur’s downtrodden expression keep him from leaving at all – and jogs through the castle. He ignores everyone (even those must’ve witnessed Arthur practically frog-marching him through the halls, who try to stop him to ask if everything’s okay) and is panting by the time he bursts into Gaius’ quarters.

“Merlin!” Gaius cries, clearly pleased to see him.

Gwen is still there too. “Oh, Merlin. We’re so glad to see you’re… “ She trails off, biting her tongue but still looking him up and down like she’s on the hunt for any physical evidence of Arthur’s rage.

“It’s okay, Gwen. I’m fine. Arthur’s fine. I mean…” he snorts. “Well, Arthur knows about my magic now, he also knows that I’m a Dragonlord. And I made a bargain with Morgana.”

Gaius bursts out with a loud exclamation with the first statement, but after the second and the third, his mouth just keeps ratcheting wider and wider.

Gwen seems stuck on the word dragon. “Wait, Merlin what—“

But Merlin doesn’t have – much – time to explain. “It’s a very long story,” he begins, rummaging through the piles of oddities on Gaius’ desk. “I’ll explain in more detail tomorrow. The short version is this: I found out why Morgana is _actually_ here. It’s not about Emrys or even about you, Gwen. It’s about a dragon. She’s befriended it (he ignores Gwen’s snide little ‘Of course she would’) and she needs my help to save the creature. I’ve agreed, but only if she promises to leave us and Camelot alone. We struck a bargain.”

“Merlin!” Gaius barks out.

“I had too, Gaius. She was under the effects of the truth spell and she told me the truth. It’s the right decision. I know it is. Ah-ha!” Merlin holds up a hand in triumph, gripping his prize carefully in his fingers. “I’m going back to Arthur. He overheard my conversation with Morgana. Needless to say things aren’t at their best right now.”

Gwen still looks flummoxed, but she simply shakes her head and says, “Take care of each other, Merlin. We’re here if you need us.”

Gaius doesn’t say anything at all. He just shakes his head – with much more side-to-side motion than Gwen - and then snorts when Merlin shuts his gaping mouth, pushing his chin up to close it with a ‘pop’.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

He reverses his dash through the castle, only this time even those who were concerned about him before know better than to ask. Again, he’s panting when he reaches Arthur’s door. He places a hand on it, palm flat against the wood, and hesitates. What if Arthur doesn’t want him there? What if he’s left?

Chiding himself for being all kinds of fool, Merlin opens the door slowly. He peers into the room.

Arthur’s sitting exactly where Merlin left him. He looks up when Merlin pokes his head in, but Merlin can’t read if he’s surprised or disappointed or even ambivalent that he’s returned.

He steps inside, closes and locks the door behind him and then crosses over to Arthur once again.

“Here,” Merlin says, holding out his hand, palm out. On it rests a diamond shaped cake.

Arthur blinks up at him in confusion.

“This cake is the one with the truth spell on it. I’m willing to eat this, right now. You can ask me anything and I will share every truth with you. I will hold nothing back.” He huffs a rather aggrieved breath. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to hold it back even if I wanted to, but still, the point is there.” He takes another deep, steadying breath. “Arthur, I want to do this for you. I _need_ to prove to you that my being in love with you isn’t a lie.” He adds the last with a hoarse desperation. He lifts his hand again, offering the cake. “I will eat if you want me to.”

Arthur looks at him for a very long time. He’s still closed off, eyes and mouth and expression all flat. Then his gaze drops to the gingercake and then flicks back up to meet Merlin’s. Then it drops back down to the cake again.

Slowly, Arthur reaches out and takes the cake off of Merlin’s palm.

Merlin hadn’t necessarily expected Arthur to feed it to him, but he doesn’t object to the idea (far from it). He opens his mouth expectantly.

Arthur stares oddly down at the little cake held rather daintily between his thick fingers. Then he lifts it up and Merlin opens his mouth wider and closes his eyes.

He opens them a few seconds later, puzzled by a strange smacking noise.

Arthur is chewing. Merlin looks down at the gingercake in alarm.

 _Half_ of it is missing.

“Arthur!” he cries out, confounded. His whole purpose in getting it was so _he_ could give the truth to Arthur. “No, you can’t. That’s…I need…” before Arthur can snatch his hand away, Merlin grabs the remaining half of the cake. Arthur tries to wrangle it back from him, but Merlin turns his head and shoves it in his mouth. He chews and swallows as fast as he can, before Arthur can do something (else) foolish like try to scoop it out of him mouth.

“There,” Merlin says in a huff after swallowing down the sticky lump of hurriedly masticated gingercake with a forceful gulp. “Now we’re both going to be stuck telling the truth. Happy?”

A wide grin splits Arthur’s face suddenly, like the sun bursting out unexpectedly from behind cloud cover, and he gives a slow nod. “Yes, I am.”

It’s the _truth_ …

Merlin feels suddenly and deliriously warm-all-over. “Ask me if I’m in love with you,” he insists. He grabs for Arthur’s hand, tangling it in his own. “Please, ask me!”

Arthur’s mouth quirks to the side, but his eyes are soft and staring at Merlin with such wonder. “Merlin, are you in love with me?”

“Yes!” Merlin feels the truth of it practically explode from within him.

“I see now, what you mean about how this feels,” Arthur admits. He pulls Merlin down towards the bed, urging him back until he’s reclined into the plush red bedcovers. “Any truth I have is yours, Merlin. And I didn’t need these cakes to believe you.”

“Really?” Merlin has to ask.

“Really,” Arthur confirms with solemnity.

“Would a kiss be too much to ask?”

Arthur shakes his head in exasperation, but his mouth forms the words of its own volition. “Not nearly _enough_ to ask, actually.” He tells Merlin, voice pitching lower to a hungry sort of timbre.

“Oh?” Merlin manages to squeak out – embarrassingly high-pitched – before Arthur stops the sound with his lips.

Merlin’s melts into the kiss, feeling Arthur’s hand touch his face and Arthur’s whole body press against his.

“You love me?” Arthur asks, biting at Merlin’s lower lip and the line of his jaw.

“Yes,” Merlin pants. He feels clumsy, fumbling through layers he can normally remove with ease.

Arthur pulls back to stare down at him. His eyes are flashing chips of obsidian ringed by a thin sliver of lapis, and his upper lip curls in a wicked sort of grin that bares a few sharp teeth. “Do you want me?”

“Oh god, yes,” Merlin groans out, needing no magic or spell to force that out of him.

“Ask me if I want you,” Arthur prompts.

Squirming back into the blankets, Merlin rocks their hips together. “I really don’t think I need to ask…”

Arthur gasps. “No, I suppose you don’t…”

The rest of the night progresses along those same… noisy lines: lots of high, throaty whining and breathy moans and slick-slide of skin-on-skin. Now and again it’s punctuated by a low voice asking, “Do you like that?” or “What about this?” and even once, “Should I try that in the other direction?”

“Arthur, stop asking questions!” Merlin sputters eventually (though his protest is preempted a moment later by a desperate, eager groan, and it’s followed-up a moment later by a hasty, “Keep asking… keep asking… Oh gods…”).

Later than night, head pillowed on Arthur's chest, Merlin traces his fingertips along the line of Arthur’s bicep and down his forearm (it’s peppered with teeth marks). “Will you go with me tomorrow?” he asks, just a fraction hesitantly. “To go call Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, and to rescue Aithusa?”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees. “I want to do that.”

And Merlin doesn’t need to ask if he’s telling the truth. Not because of the spell (he’d brought along some pieces of the antidote ginger honeycakes – wrapped in cloth and tucked into his trouser pocket - and they’d fed each other and then chased after crumbs with tongues and teeth), but because Merlin _knows_ that Arthur will be honest with him, just as he relishes the fact that he has no need to keep secrets any longer.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Epilogue – Camelot: Two Years Later_

 

A rumbling, growling roar sounds through the air over the keep and grounds of the castle. New arrivals to the city look up, eyeing the sky, nervous and wary. Those who’ve been in Camelot for only a few days are already used to the sound.

“Aithusa,” Morgana chastises, – though with very little heat in it – calling out to the sky overhead. “Come down here right now. And no roaring!”

The cloud-white dragon plunges back down through a puffy tuft of white as pale as she is. Her wings cut through the mist, dragging tendrils of it behind. She grumbles out another noise that’s more of a skirling purr than any real draconine roar.

“Aithusa,” Gwen tries, when the dragon swoops playfully a few feet over Morgana’s head, teasing at flyaway strands of Morgana’s hair with her dexterous claws. “It’s time to land!”

Two years and good health have added bulk to the pale dragon, and though there’s still a hitch in her gait (it will never be quite right) she’s strong and sure and the skies are her ocean and she swims through them with the grace of a dolphin.

Aithusa lands on the parapet, alighting carefully so as not to knock her wings into the two women standing upon it with her.

“There’s my lovely girl,” Morgana croons.

Two years and the love of a dragon and the forgiveness of people she never thought could forgive have had an equally dramatic effect on Morgana. Though there are some who aren’t able to look past her terrible deeds, and she mostly keeps to herself in Camelot (the two exceptions being the ladies – human and dragon - with her on the tallest peak of the castle roof) Morgana is _far_ different from the woman who’d spent weeks locked up in the dungeons while Merlin and Kilgharrah nursed Aithusa back to health.

Patting Aithusa on the long smooth slope of her narrow face, Morgana looks over at Gwen –who is likewise scratching at the scales along the long stretch of Aithusa’s jaw – and feels a warmth steel over her. It’s taken most of the last two years for her and Gwen to get to a place like this. While it will never again be like those early years - when Morgana was just the King’s ward, and Gwen her maid and dearest companion - in some… many ways it’s better now.

Gwen looks up then, and catches Morgana staring. She smiles, small and secretive. They both reach to rub the divot between Aithusa’s nostrils at the same time, and Morgana finds Gwen’s fingers under her own. When Morgana curls hers, lacing them through Gwen’s, she doesn’t pull away. That secretive little smile grows just a bit more coy.


End file.
